I Live at the House Where Everything is Broken (or Lost)

I Live at The House Where Everything Is Broken


There seems to be a misconception (in my imagination) that I live a charmed life. In this charmed life, everything goes my way, my house is clean, the laundry is folded, the dishwasher is emptied, I have lots of engaging and interesting work, my clothing is fashionable yet not trendy, every day is a good hair day, one of my eyes isn’t bigger than the other. And everything works.


That’s all fantasy.  None of it’s true. None.


My house like the morning after a frat party, my laundry ‘cycle’ (sort, wash, fold, put away) takes two weeks, dishes seem to morph into non-toppling towers of Pisa, my clothes consist of sweatpants and things I shrank, my hair well… (it seems my bangs are too short and I look like a Polly Pocket. And they’re not growing. They seem to be getting shorter on their own.). And one of my eyes is definitely bigger than the other (do you want to hear about my health problems? No, I didn’t think so.) And nothing works. The things I can find, that is.


I live in The House Where Everything Breaks or Gets Misplaced.


Let’s make a list, shall we, of what’s broken or lost at my house.


Note: I don’t have an exhaustive list of all that cannot be found because I don’t know I can’t find it until I need it and start looking for it. 


  • Globally, everything. Let’s start with anything nice that I got for my wedding. There’s nary an attractive piece of giftware or a glass salsa server to be seen. Also, my garage doors, the windows at the front of the house, and at least one wine glass, a plate, and two drinking glasses per week. And the ligaments on my son’s right hand (they call us a frequent flyer family at the local hand clinic.) In addition, I don’t know where the anythings are.
  • My car. First I broke it and I got it back. Then the roof started leaking. Have you ever had an ice cold shower made of snow melt come down on you while you turned a corner?
  • My dishwasher. Stopped working last week. Which was a non-issue because nobody loads it or empties it anyways. Guess how many olive pits were in the dishwasher filter. Just guess. And then explain to me how that many olive pits got into my dishwasher.
  • My gel manicure. See above.
  • Almost my washing machine. See above. Luckily, when the repairman was here to fix the dishwasher he had a look at my washing machine. Did you know there are little holes in the rubber ring that seals the front of a front loader that can get plugged up with hair and fabric residue?
  • My Fridge. The third fridge we’ve had in 15 years. It has ice in all kinds of strange places that aren’t an ice maker. I’m afraid to have someone look at it. I can’t take any more bad news about my large appliances.
  • My Magic Bullet. The blender attachment melted in the dishwasher (before it broke) so the lid doesn’t fit anymore which doesn’t matter because I lost the lid. I still wear make my smoothies every morning anyways. I look good in purple.
  • My food processor. This one *could* be my fault . Things break when you drop them on the floor.
  • My breadmaker. I am a person who actually uses their small appliances. Luckily, Hamilton Beach sent me a new one. I was very upset when it stopped working while I was making a Challah for company. I called that creation ‘wet ball of sticky mush’.
  • TWO (not one) cellphone screens. Both of my sons have shattered cell phone screens. It’s not teen abuse if they get shards of glass in their ears, is it?
  • The make-your-own K Cups thingies for the Keurig. I have SIX of these little cup things so I can use my own ground coffee. Oh, small tiny accessories, where for art thou?
  • My $50 gift certificate to The Bay. GONE. Baby Gone. I wanted to buy something but the Borrowers took it (The Borrowers are my husband who likes to ‘clean up’ – see the first point about the frat house – and then can’t remember where he ‘organized’ everything.)
  • My corkscrew. This one is a real problem. My wine opener that I know how to use broke. You know, the ones with the arms? Now we only have the one that Sommeliers use (this twisty thing you pull), which I am not coordinated enough figure out. So I have to ask my 14-year old son to open the wine. He’s really good at it.
  • My favourite spatula. I had a really good silicone spoon spatula that was all-kinds of awesome. Unfortunately, I tried to use it for a purpose for which it wasn’t made and the handle snapped. I can’t find it, so I can’t replace it. It’s the small things that count.
  • My built-in double wall ovens. The top oven always thinks there’s a probe in there, and just keeps beeping and beeping and beeping. I don’t even know what the probe is. I think it’s a meat thermometer. I haven’t seen that probe since we bought the ovens 15 years ago.
  • Our old smoke alarm. We have the awesomeness of Rogers Smart Home Monitoring, but our old unit still thinks it has the power. Ever vigilant, it likes to go off when you cook really (insert sarcasm) smoky things like one piece of turkey bacon.
  • My workout shoes. They have holes in them. And I can’t find my size for new ones anywhere. Don’t they make weight training shoes in a size 7? Or maybe it’s that stores don’t order more than one pair in the most popular size.
  • My diamond bracelet that was bought with the insurance money I got for the bracelet I lost. Luckily I saw this one falling off. I think my insurance company doesn’t think I’m a very good risk.
  • My watch. The battery died and there’s a very poky pin sticking out of the side of it.


So, yeah. As you can see, all is not sunshine and roses for me. As long as my macbook is good, I’m happy though. (knock wood, throw salt over your shoulder…)


Did I make you feel really good about your life?



photo credit: trieu88 via photopin cc

When I Showed My Husband the ‘What Do Moms Do All Day’ Picture…

Most of the time, my husband is great. I mean, he’s a bit moody, but show me a man who isn’t, and I’ll show you a woman who wants to be with her kids ALL the time.  Its also no secret that  housekeeping is not my activity of choice.  But, I do try. I really do try (well, not really).

When I showed the Old Man this picture and read him the story (its not that he can’t read, its that he’s advanced in years, and generally too lazy to go get his glasses), his response was, ‘What’s the big deal?  The house always looks like that.
Then the boys chimed in, ‘Yeah, Mom. What’s the big deal?’
I’m sure you’ll agree with me when I say, ‘WHAT AN ASSHOLE. And, two in training.’
A crazy stay-at-home mom house


A man came home from work and found his 3 children outside, still in their pyjamas, playing in the mud, with empty food boxes and wrappers strewn around garden, The door of his wife’s car was open, as was the front door to the house and no sign of the dog, walking in the door, he found …an even bigger mess. A lamp had been knocked over, the throw rug was against one wall, In the front room the TV was on loudly with the cartoon channel, the family room was strewn with toys and various items of clothing. In the kitchen, dishes filled the sink, breakfast food was spilled on the counter, the fridge door was open wide, dog food was spilled on the floor, a broken glass lay under the table, and a small pile of sand was spread by the back door. He quickly headed up the stairs, stepping over toys and more piles of clothes, looking for his wife. He was worried she might be ill, or that something serious had happened. He was met with a small trickle of water as it made its way out the bathroom door. As he peered inside he found wet towels, scummy soap and more toys strewn over the floor. Miles of toilet paper lay in a heap and toothpaste had been smeared over the mirror and walls. As he rushed to the bedroom, he found his wife still curled up in the bed in her pyjamas, reading a novel… She looked up at him, smiled and asked how his day went. He looked at her bewildered and asked, ‘What happened here today?’ She again smiled and answered, ‘You know every day when you come home from work and you ask me what in the world do I do all day?…

”Yes,” was his incredulous reply..
She answered, ‘Well, today I didn’t do it.’
(I can’t locate source of this story. But, I’m no plagiarizer.  It could be this:  http://robinroost.blogspot.ca/ but it was shared on FB from here: Suzie’s Daily Quotes)

Operation Housewife: Week One

Operation Housewife

So everyone knows that I am quite possibly the nicest or best sister in the entire world.  I had a month to stew adjust on what my life would be like sans my wife nanny. Convinced that could easily overcome my serious HOUSEWORK ALLERGY,  I was all over the idea of doing the laundry. I had the groceries organized.  I had the arrangements made for Luisa (my soon-to-be ex wife nanny) to come and clean on Fridays (I mean, I am allergic to housework, so baby steps with regard to bathrooms, floors, dusting, etc). The kitchen was already clean, and all I had to do was keep it that way until Fantastic Luisa Friday.  I could do this.

On the Sunday night before the Monday, the first day of Operation Housewife (as I was laughingly calling it)  I asked the family a few key questions to ensure a smooth and successful first morning.

Q1:  What do you kids like to eat for lunch?

Q2:  What do you kids like to eat for breakfast?

Q3:  What do you like to eat for breakfast other than the hot breakfast you referenced when answering Q2

Q4: Where are your lunch boxes?

I figured that the answers to those four questions would mean a smooth before school morning, and once the spoiled bums sweet darlings left at 8:00 and 8:15 respectively, I would get back into bed, sip my coffee, and plan a day which would include:


-job hunting



-the preparation of a delicious yet healthy dinner

Well the sh*t hit the fan in the morning when I was torn from sleep by my husband who had to literally push me off the bed to go make the lunches and provide breakfast to hungry boys (luckily the teenage daughter doesn’t actually eat).  When I went downstairs, they tried to talk to me before I’d had coffee. Then, they lay on the couch expecting to be served bacon and eggs.  Bacon and eggs?  Did I look like the cook at Sunset Grill?  I asked them to get off their asses and kindly join me in the kitchen to procure their own breakfasts as I was very busy making nutritious yet appealing lunches for them.  I silently cursed the nanny for creating these kinds of expectations (like hot breakfasts and custom lunches), but at the same time admired her for her multi-tasking abilities.

Notwithstanding the ungodly hour, I managed to get the kids off to school.  On his way out, Little J patted me on the back and said, ‘You’re doing a great job, Mom.’  I smiled, and took his compliment while chuckling to myself.  This housewifering stuff was coming back to me.

Endless laundry

Then, I looked at the piles of laundry.  They were daunting.  Like Mount Everest, only dirty clothes, and not cool like Mount Everest.  There may have been 300 towels.  I didn’t know we had that many people living in our house who bathed.  I threw the first giant pile over the banister and loaded up the machine.  Then, I remembered that I’d decided to switch to Soap Nuts last year.   It seemed like a good idea at the time, considering that I wasn’t doing the laundry. While they are very natural, it may have been the worst notion I’ve ever had.  These soap nuts, while ecologically responsible and towel-softening, are EVIL. And, I CAN’T SWITCH BACK. Because Luisa comes Fridays and I DON’T WANT TO LOOK LIKE A LAZY HYPOCRITE (to my former wife nanny).

Imagine regular, bad for the environment, chemical-laden laundry soap:  Step 1, take of cap.  Step 2, pour the appropriate measure in cap.  Step 3, pour into soap dispenser.

Imagine Soap Nuts:  Step 1:  locate little tiny bag that has gone missing in laundry room.  Step 2:  unknot little tiny string holding bag closed and  take out old soap nuts.  Step 3:  put a few soap nuts in bag and tie little tiny string again.  Step 4:  go get a cup or other vessel and fill it with hot water to activate the soap nuts (since I use cold water)  Step 5:  after a few minutes, take wet bag out of cup and throw it in the machine. Step 6:  pour some of the liquid in the soap dispenser.  Step 7:  after the load is done, search through all the wet clothes (jeans and sweats are super fun and easy to do this with) for the tiny canvas bag. Step 8:  thank goodness you can use the nuts for three loads.  Step 9:  on the fourth load (yes, I do about 7 loads at a time) repeat steps 2 – 7 again.

Needless to say, I did not do any of the above activities I’d planned for my day.

Tomorrow, more adventures. A little teaser…

Operation Housewife

The Valium Chronicles: My Family Hates Me

I love my nanny

My family officially hates me.  And, I was only trying to do the RIGHT thing. To be a KIND person.  To SAVE money. To be a GROWNUP.

But apparently, what I did, was ruin their lives, and be the WORST MOTHER EVER!

This is what happened.

My sister has a baby. He’s one of the totally cutest babies ever. He’s one year old, so it was time for her to go back to work.

She suffers, like me, from the Housework Allergy (it must run in the family, although our mother doesn’t have it, so it must have skipped a generation). Therefore, for her back-t0-work plan, she chose to sponsor a nanny as opposed to putting her baby in daycare.  Except, her nanny didn’t arrive in time and the boy went off to daycare anyways.  He promptly got sick a lot, which was very stressful for her, since the baby doesn’t sleep at the best of times.  When he’s sick or teething or even its Monday, his sleep is even more disrupted.   The situation came to a head when had a breakdown one morning after  realizing she hadn’t done laundry in two weeks.   Needless to say, my baby sister was on her last nerve.

She finally heard from the nanny who said she had her interview booked, and she’d be able to come soon. Like really soon.  Sis was ECSTATIC.

Then, the bad news came.  The nanny got declined.  She didn’t have the right credentials. AFTER ALL THAT!!

My sister called me, so upset.  She’s my baby sister.  I’m a fixer.  What did I do?

‘Oh Sister, you can take my nanny.’  I offered this without thinking of the aftershocks that Luisa leaving would have on my life.  All I knew was that I was SAVING THE DAY!


Now, my nanny (well she’s really a housekeeper as there’s nobody to nanny around here) is the goddess of all nannies. No family has ever been taken care of better.  She is far beyond a cure for my housework allergy.  She is MY WIFE.  The downside to being cared for like this, however, is that we have all become a big pile of slobbypant layabouts.

I told my family (This is the point where they started to hate me, if you were wondering when I was going to get to the point):

‘Sara needs Luisa, so Luisa has agreed to go work for her.  We’re all going to pitch in to take care of ourselves.’

My family was not pleased:

‘No way, forget it. Tell her she can’t go.  Who is going to do everything?  And who is going to section my grapefruits for me?’ (The husband)

‘Pleeeeeeze no!!!  I love her. And she makes me BACON every morning.  Plus, the dogs love her. Noooooooooo.’  (Little J)

‘Oh.’  (Diva).  (Then I reminded her that she’d have to pick up after herself now, and help out around the house.) ‘Oh. Are you going to be mean to us now?’  (she’s 17, what did I expect?’)

‘Can I have her room?  ManCave in the BASEMENT!! YESS!! (Bubba) (Ok I guess he doesn’t hate me. But he’s so sweet, he’d never hate me.)

Grrrrr.. Wooof. GGrrrrr (the dogs, who sit at her door and cry all weekend when she’s not there)

Ban Housework Everywhere

Then, as I started to think about it, I realized:

  • I’d have to get up and make the kids breakfast and the lunches in the morning.
  • I’d have to do the laundry, which includes learning how to use the Soap Nuts. And fold it. And put it away.
  • I don’t know where anything goes.
  • I don’t even know what the kids like in their lunches.
  • I’ll have to clean up after myself when cooking.
  • My beds wouldn’t be all fluffy and made and stuff unless I did it myself.
When I kept thinking about it, I came to a very important conclusion.  I’m a spoiled brat, and that’s why my kids are spoiled.
Being a loving sister is probably the best thing that will ever have happened to my  family.
This truly is TOUGH LOVE PEOPLE.  Its CHICKY BOOT CAMP!  And you’re all learning how to do laundry!
And, ps. I don’t care if you hate me!
PPS, in case of flare ups of the Housework allergy, please send valium.
editor’s note:  I will still not be doing the cleaning as a flare up of the housework allergy could result in serious complications such as my children applying to the courts for emancipation, divorce, and the risk of my own nervous breakdown.