Chris Hemsworth & Megan Fox

I sucked last week. Like worst blogger ever award. I was completely spent and utterly absent. My apologies to all of you who were counting on me. But I am The Shitty Housewife, so I am bound to fail. Anyway…

So this week I thought I would hit you hard. Come back with a bang. BLOW YOUR MINDS. And after all of those sexual innuendos, here we go. Masturbation Monday this week is the two hottest pieces of Hollywood ass ever. Chris Hemsworth and Megan Fox.

Megan Fox…

I mean damn girl… could she be any sexier? She fucking oozes it out of every pore. And she is totally married to David from 90210. Now there is nothing more amazing than that. She could be the shittiest housewife ever but it wouldn’t even matter because you know she turns out in between the sheets.

Chris Hemsworth…

I can’t. He is the hottest dad ever and is so damn cute with how he tweets about his dad skills. His wife is the luckiest housewife ever, although she ain’t too shabby herself. She has sex with Thor… lucky bitch. He could hammer me any day.

Well, enjoy. Grab some lotion, some Sade and take a few minutes on me. Happy Masturbation Monday Shitties.

xoxo

The Shitty Housewife

MOMENT OF SILENCE MONDAY

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I did not think talking about hot, sexy, unattainable people was very appropriate today in the wake of the horrible tragedy that struck our world yesterday. In fact, I surprisingly, do not have much to say. At this point there are no words to say. All over the media I see ranks about the President, gun control, terrorists and such. I personally think we are not there yet. A community needs us. To throw as much love, support, comfort, and kindness as we can possibly muster. And that is all we should be doing. Stop yelling. Stop hating. Stop blaming. THINGS MUST CHANGE. LAWS MUST CHANGE. Some may agree. Some, even contributors to this blog will disagree. But they must. But we are not there yet. 50 people died. 50 people went to celebrate, dance, love and enjoy their Saturday evening and were killed. To me it doesn’t matter that they were gay. It doesn’t matter when they were elementary school kids. It doesn’t matter what movie they were seeing. They were us. THEY WERE US. Living their day to day lives, minding their own business. Going to a movie, going to school, going to dance…..and they are gone. The pain of the victims families and friends in unimaginable. The horror of what happened inside of this building. None of that needs to be masked with fighting. The fighting needs to stop. We are one world, one community, one life. Let’s make this stop and start working together. We here at The Shitty Housewife are sending all of our love and support to the victims family and friends. Also, all of our love, as always to the LGBT community. We are one…please remember that.

xoxo

The Shitty Housewife

Shittiest Move of the Week

_20160610_090246So every once in awhile I like to know I am not the only Shitty Housewife out there. And today is one of those days.  Sure, this week I have had some moments. A terrible hangover on Sunday that made me sneak off to bed at 7:30. Another week of an messy house. That moment when my daughter told my son he was being an asshole……oops. So yeah, it’s been a normal week in our house. But today, I want to hear about you and your shittiest moment. Lay them on me. Make me laugh, cringe. smile and feel a little less shitty! Tag yourself, tell me your shittiest move and then tag a friend to do the same. I will repost the SHITTIEST move later on tonight and you will be crowned the Shittiest of the Shitties!!!!

The Survivor. The Rapist. The Parents.

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Do we as parents raise rapist? Of course we don’t. Never intentionally. Ever. We do our best to raise strong, kind, open minded, hardworking, caring men. But what happens when we do that and they rape someone?

 

The Brock Turner case is horrendous. And the more that unfolds the worse it becomes. It is a complete injustice. The survivor deserves accolades beyond any we can give her, because the one thing she truly deserves is a do over of that night in which this never happened. And sadly, it is the one thing we as a society can not give her. We can never give her that moment back when Brock helps her instead of rapes her. And as a woman, a wife, a daughter, a sister, a girlfriend and a mom I feel like I have disappointed her. I should have somehow not allowed this to happen to her. He should have been punished and he was not. And somehow it is my fault. Our fault. We should not get off the hook for our inexcusable actions because we are young, white, rich and male. And now, this female sits, forever changed and there is simply nothing we can do about it.

 

Or is there?

 

The survivors parents……can you imagine? The sadness. The worry. The anger. I know her father wants to violently punish Brock and the Judge. And he deserves to feel that way. And her mom. Oh god….she probably never wants her daughter to leave her sight again. She wants to hold her, cuddle her, tell her it will all be alright, although she knows, as a mom, it won’t. As a mother with a daughter I would look at my daughter, god forbid she was in this nightmare, and my heart would break and ache for the rest of her life. Knowing how much was ahead of her and how much work needed to be done. Knowing that when she closes her eyes she envisions waking up in a hospital having a nurse pull out a rape kit. Knowing that she will have to tell her future partner “I’ve been raped. Intimacy will not be easy.” The worse thing for her mom is knowing she can’t take any of this away from her daughter. This survivor, her daughter, has to live this and there is nothing she can do to change that.

 

What about Brock’s parents? Well, we have heard from his dad and it was utterly disgusting. But what about his mom? I imagine she has locked herself in her room, laying in her bed, crying her eyes out. How could her son do this? How could her son rape someone? How is her son a MONSTER? She probably can’t believe it. She probably doesn’t want to believe it. She is now seeing his future in a completely different view. He is no longer a handsome, smart, Stanford swimmer. He is a RAPIST. Her baby boy whom she devoted her life too. Who she raised the best she could showing him all the love and comfort a mama could give. Her child, whom she has loved unconditionally since the moment he was a heartbeat inside of her body. This baby is a rapist. She wakes up everyday now and for the rest of her life blaming HERSELF (because that is what moms do.) The man she raised got intoxicated, and raped a young girl behind a dumpster and left her there. HER SON. How, as a parent do you process that? How do you support? How do you still love? How do you know envision his future now? Probably not turning into a successful, married, family man. That vision is gone. Everything as Brock’s mom sees it is gone. Her son is a rapist. Forever and always.

 

I have sons. I can not even complete the sentence “What if they….” They won’t. They will not. But I am sure Brock’s mom thought the same thing.

 

And Brock probably never saw himself as a rapist. This particular evening he was probably getting his pre game on for this party. Trying to look good and thinking about hooking up with someone. A situation every single one of us has been through. We have all gone to a party and had too much to drink. We have all had too much to drink that when we wake up we don’t remember. But Brock had something inside of him this night that wasn’t normal “drunk behavior.” He wanted to have a sexual encounter and nothing was going to stop him. He did not control himself. He felt entitled. He felt like he would get away with it (which he has) and he raped someone who was unconscious. I am sure Brock did not wake up that morning and think “tonight’s the night I will rape.” I am sure he did not plan this out. But when the time came he did not stop. He raped, got caught and blamed it on booze. No Brock it wasn’t intoxication, it was entitlement. You had it that night and you also had some booze as your backup.

 

As parents, one of our jobs is to teach our children the word no. They need to hear it. Often. And they need to understand it, fully. We are living in a world, as parents, where saying no to you kid is a BAD thing. But it isn’t. If we as parents create for them a world full of yes’ then we are creating entitlement. We are creating rapist. WE ARE CREATING BROCK. I did not grow up in Brock’s house, but I am sure he was not told no a lot. He got things he wanted, whenever he wanted them. I see this every single day as a mom. Kids wanting something, once they are told no, they tantrum and parents give in. They are quickly told yes. I see this ALL THE TIME. Telling your child NO does not make you a bad parent. It makes you an excellent parent who is teaching your child boundaries. Kids like Brock have no boundaries, therefore, when this situation arose, he took it. It is our job to say no. It is our job to tell them to be done at no. It is our job to make sure our children are not entitled.

 

And besides entitlement, we must teach them about ownership. You make a decision, good or bad, you own it and face the consequences. Don’t sugarcoat their punishment. Don’t reward for falsifying. They need to learn this early. My kids lie and they get in trouble. They own up or they get in trouble. Man up, always. These kids must know that.

 

We also need to teach them about sex and sexual abuse. They need to know words like penis and vagina and not give them nicknames. My 4, 3 and 15 month old know zero other names for their body parts besides their actual names. Empower them with these words, do not shame them for having a penis or vagina. We need to talk to them about who is allowed to touch them and how powerful sex is. We need to have open communication as they grow and teach them about birth control and condoms. It is our responsibility to take this generation and change them for the better. My kids hear the word no every day all day.  They also know about their bodies and what is appropriate and what isn’t. Yes, they are toddlers, but they also are growing up in this fucked up world. We have chosen to have children and we have chosen to give them skills to make them good people. Not entitled ones who shoot up schools, cause harm or rape just because they are told no and they feel like they should have power.

 

I am not blaming Brock’s actions on his parents. I actually feel just as bad for the Brock’s mom as do the survivors mom. Her daughter was raped. Her son is a rapist. There is no greener grass for this situation. Brock is old enough to know right from wrong. He is fully capable of understanding a good situation from a bad situation. And he also is man enough to know that his penis carries power and he used that power against an innocent, undeserving, beautiful soul that night. That power is now gone. He will always be known as a rapist. He will always know the truth of that horrible moment. He will always see the pain he has caused behind his mom’s eyes. And hopefully now he will know what the word no means.
The survivor has a different life to adjust too. A life of fear, doubt and questioning….why me? And who knows why her. I am sure Brock doesn’t even know. But she is a survivor and he is a rapist. Moving forward we all know whose future is brighter. And she has us. The women, the wives, the daughters, the sisters, the girlfriends and moms who have her back. We are here for her fully. And so many men who are not like Brock. We are all here for her and as a society, she deserves at least that from us.

“Experts Shmexperts”

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And why not listening to them doesn’t make you shitty.

I want to start by saying that I truly do appreciate and respect all the medical professionals and other “experts” in my life. I take great comfort in knowing I have a nurse’s hotline to call, doctors available for my babies’ needs, and other “rock star” mom friends I can call when I need advice. That being said, the most important expert in your child’s life, is you, sweet mama, and nothing anyone says trumps what you know about your own little person. I think that sometimes we don’t always put as much value and trust in our “mama gut instincts” and default to someone who “knows better” than we do. Well I’m here to tell you, that shit just isn’t true!!!

My mom gave me an invaluable piece of advice right after I had my first baby and she said, “Sweetie, no matter what anyone tells you. Always trust your ‘momsense”. I really had no idea what that meant until I started getting into situations where “experts” were trying to tell me what I should be doing. These things didn’t always align with what I wanted or felt was best and stubborn and strong willed as I am, with hormones raging and emotions through the roof, I began to question my “momsense”.

For example, during the first few days with my daughter in the hospital, nurses told me, “Don’t let your baby sleep too long on you; or she won’t sleep in a crib.” When actually, feeling her sweet little body snuggled up on mine was probably the most “right” thing that I had ever felt in my life. I can’t count the number of times I heard “seasoned” mothers say, “If you sleep in bed with your baby they will never sleep in bed by themselves.” I absolutely fell asleep in our guest bed with my daughter during nighttime feeding sessions more times than I can count, and guess what? My now 3 year old sleeps every night in her toddler bed without any problems at all! And I have cherished memories of waking up and seeing her angel face fast asleep.

When my second baby was born, his blood sugar was low, when they did those “first few moments of life tests”. So, they gave him a bottle of formula. Now, there is absolutely nothing wrong with formula if you have chosen that route for you and your baby, but for me breastfeeding is my path; and I am fairly passionate about that. The nurses told me that I was welcome to pump some breastmilk if I wanted, but that because he was only hours old my body most likely would not be able to produce enough to keep his blood sugar where they wanted it to be. They strongly suggested I just go ahead with formula for the first 24 hours. I had felt my milk come in and historically had never had any issues in the milk production department and so when I smugly handed over 4 ounces that I had hand expressed, they were in shock. They used what I pumped to feed him and he was nursing within the next couple hours. Looking back do I blame them? Absolutely not, they were doing what they thought was right based on their experiences and the past situations they had been in. They didn’t know me or what my body could do and if I hadn’t been as vocal as I was about my wants, then how were they to know?

Are we going to know what to do all the time? Are you kidding? Raising children is at times like trying to make it through a maze blindfolded and hammered. We do need “experts” in our life to help guide and encourage us along. But, at the end of the day, you don’t have to be a doctor or have been a mom for a decade to know exactly what that precious babe needs. It’s okay to voice your opinion and *gasp* go against what an expert or doctor has to say. Only you know that the pitiful wail coming out of your baby means that she has an ear infection; or the glint in your toddler’s eye that means you have about 3.2 minutes to get out of the grocery store before a meltdown ensues. You know your child more deeply than anyone in the world, and that makes you the most important expert they have!

Contributing Writer

Ellen Mason

The Life and Death of my Sweet Dita

This coming Sunday will be the year anniversary of my dog dying. Even writing this sentence makes me tear up. And I am sure this post will take me days to get through because it is beyond difficult for me to talk about her death. If you are not a person who believes in the deep human/animal connection and relationship, I suggest you just stop reading now. You will think I am crazy, which if so…fuck off and be happy you have never lost a pet.  And if you are a believer, then please continue reading and know my heart is with you as you think about, grieve, remember and mourn your baby.

 

Dita was my very first dog on my own. Meaning not a family dog my parents gave me, but my dog. The day I picked her up was life changing. I had this little, adorable, living thing who was mine to take care of. Mine to teach. Mine to cuddle. Mine to grow with. Just mine. I lived with someone, a boyfriend, at the time I got her. He liked dogs, but didn’t understand my love for her. We split months later and then it was just her and I. I found us a cute little apartment, enrolled her in doggie daycare and made sure she was more taken care of than myself during this time. But that didn’t matter to me because while I was doing all of this for her, she was doing so much more for me. She was taking care of me in a million more ways than anyone ever had. While I was teaching her to poop and pee outside (something she never quite grasped) she was teaching me about independence. While I was teaching her to chew on her toys, not mommy’s (vibrators…….) she was teaching me that I was a strong women. While I was teaching her to sit/stay (that is about as far as we got) she was teaching me that I was not alone…I had her and I had myself and that was all we needed. I will truly treasure that short time we lived alone. Just us. We were an unstoppable pair and molded each other into some pretty awesome creatures.

 

Years passed and that time of just her and I became just a memory. Other dogs, kids, Matt all eventually came into the picture. And she LIKED all those other things, but she never fully accepted them. She loved her Mommy/Dita time and let everyone know it. I know most dogs are stoked when their owner walks through the door, but man, Dita was ecstatic.  Everyday, without fail she would run to me, pushing any other pug, pitbull or kid out of the way, making her crazy pug noises and rub herself all over me like it had been weeks. Even if it was a quick trip to the store. Whenever I sat down anywhere in the house, she found her way to my lap and would curl up and take her throne. She listened to every single I said, staring at me with those big pug eyes, hanging on to every word, waiting for me to talk about food.

 

Dita was only 9 when I found out she had cancer. That is pretty young for a pug. I had many tough decisions I had to make about the wellness and health of my best friend. What drugs, what tests, what plans to assist the comfort and longevity of her life. It was fucking brutal. Especially when I would see the medications quickly not work. It all happened so fast. Her last vet appointment she was skin and bones. Her teeth were falling out and she wasn’t eating. The vet was very apologetic as he told me that her cancer was too aggressive and at this point there was nothing to do but make her comfortable. At this point, she was not greeting me at the door. She was not pawing for my lap. She was hiding from us all waiting to pass.

 

Her last night with us changed. She suddenly would not leave my side. She followed me to every diaper change, every potty break, every step. I knew it was time. I put her in our bed and she began her journey to doggie heaven lying next to Matt and I. It was peaceful, beautiful and she was surrounded by a family full of love. But most importantly in the arms of me. Her mom, her care taker, her life companion, her best friend.

 

All the strength she had taught me over the past 9 years lead up to this moment. She was always there for me with careers, love, babies, heartaches, sickness, life changes and now I had to take her strength and hold on to it for her. Make her feel the way she always made me feel…..loved, safe, not alone.

 

Pets give us something no human can. And as sassy and stubborn and odd and quirky as Dita was, she was a dog. Full of unconditional love. A dog who doesn’t hold a grudge, who is always excited to see you and who appreciates human kindness more than actual humans do. Dita was my dog and she proved it day in and day out for 9 incredible years.

 

The loss of your pet is tough. In my case (and in most cases) it is the loss of a family member, the loss of your true spirit animal, the loss of your best friend.

 

This week marks a year and I still find myself crying over her. Matt and I always reminisce on funny Dita stories (she was quite the character.) Who knows how long I will cry over her, but I don’t ever mind. I know she is with me and when I do cry she is at my ankles making her funny yodeling noises telling me I am okay.

 

I miss you Sweet D. And I will love you forever. Thank you for being you, loving me and teaching me so very much.

 

Molly Ringwald and Jason Bateman

I thought I would bring back some old shit. And I don’t mean old as in yucky old, I mean old school as in sexy 80’s babies. These two were hot back then and are still hot today. I am talking about the oh so beautiful Molly Ringwald and the always sexy Jason Bateman. Who didn’t own a Tiger Beat with these lookers on the cover. Decades later they are both still on top of their game making movies and shows. They both are beyond talented and at this point will remain in the Hollywood game for another few decades. Let’s all get into our leg warmers and Tiger Beat this Monday with these two.

Sausage and Spinach Pie

So, there is nothing my husband loves more than some sort of meat pastry. If it is meaty and it is in a breaded crust, Matt loves it. I found this recipe, again, searching for recipes with ingredients I had in my fridge. Sometimes this can work out for you, sometimes not so much. It is an extreme twist on a Chicken Pot Pie and I had high hopes for it!

Sausage and Spinach Meat Pie (sounds gross, I know!)
Pound of Italian Sausage
1 Bag of Frozen Spinach
2 pie shells
3 eggs
1 Small Container of Ricotta Cheese
1 Bag of Mozzarella Cheese
Salt and Pepper
Step 1. Brown the Sausage 20160522_170915_HDR
Step 2. Have #1 pick some fresh herbs from the garden…..but no biggie if they are not fresh. Like not a big deal at all.20160522_171023_HDR
Step 3. Mix the eggs, cheese and salt and pepper together in a bowl.20160522_170922_HDR
Step 4. Give in and give #3 a bottle. He missed his nap and it is too close to bedtime to try again. You gotta do what works.20160522_170926_HDR
Step 5. Drain meat (we give the yummy meat juice to the dogs.)20160522_170948_HDR
Step 6. Let meat cool a bit then mix with egg/cheese mixture.20160522_171538_HDR
Step 7. Listen to #2 cry because he is STARVING.20160522_171038_HDR

Step 8. Poor mixture into shell and top with other shell.

Step 9. Bake on 350 for 40  minutes.20160522_182444_HDR
THIS WAS SO GOOD!!!! It was random but so tasty. We paired it with a salad and both agreed adding feta would have made it that much better. Everyone chowed. We had leftovers for days. I would for sure cook this again. I like pleasing my man with a meat pie every once in awhile!

Shittiest Move of the Week

e36b684b985d00de752ff069d91b07abWell, here we are again. Friday. And thank god. This week has gone by fast, but it is always nice to see Friday arrive. My shittiest move this week has been an ongoing move since Tuesday. My incredible in laws came into town this last weekend for Kellen’s birthday. When they come here, they don’t relax. They basically work their asses off so Matt and I can play a huge game of life catch up. We work the same shifts since they can watch the kids, we get an insane amount of chores done, we get errands done, we throw parties, we go out to eat alone, WE do so much and THEY bust their butts to entertain and watch the kids. There will NEVER be a way to thank them for all they do when they get here. EVER. I just hope they know how appreciative we are.

Anyway, when they left, the house needed a good clean up. Since I got so much work done while they were here, I have been here alone with the kids since they left while Matt works. Everyday, my mission has been to deep clean the house. Has that happened….nope. It is still pretty trashed (for our standards) and I still just keep staring at the mess thinking, I will deal with you later. Well, tomorrow I go back to work and we all know what that means. Matt will clean it. Him being a little OCD about the house and being alone here, I am pretty sure I will come home to a beautiful place and a slightly irritated husband. The shitty part is, I am kinda banking on it. Like, I feel like I am purposely not cleaning, just straightening up because I know he will tomorrow. Shitty, I know. But isn’t it good that I am admitting it??? But he does do a much better job and he likes it….right???? And hey, don’t I have to live up to my claimed name….The Shitty Housewife.

 

 

Top 10 Ways to Throw a Successful Toddler Event

 

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10. PiÑata
Seriously, when things start to go south and party time turns into meltdown time… give the kids a stick and a donkey full of candy. PARTY IS ON.

9. Pinterest-FAIL
Yep… try. I bet you fail, too. And not because you suck, but because Pinterest sucks.

8. Water everything.
Tables, pools, guns, balloons. Kids love that shit.

7. Cake, cupcakes, cookies, TREATS! TREATS! TREATS!
You don’t have to deal with the car ride home. Sugar your friends kids up… do it.

6. Meat.
Parents love a good, slow cooked eat they don’t have to deal with.

5. Wine.
Of course.

4. Beer.
It is a long night with lots of kids.

3. Bourbon.
Your kids are hopped on sugar, why not?

2. Tequila.
YOU HAVE KIDS… that shit is no joke. And they have been partying for 3 hours.

1. Uber…
You are drunk, and you can put a car seat in an uber.