Queenie, You're FIRED!

Can you see Donald Trump?  He's here in my living room, comb over and all.  Pointing his finger at me as he surveys the clutter and buildup that's threatening to close in.  The tense music swells as he takes a breath, the little Trump sibs glance at each other knowingly.  He makes his declaration with that cheesy sweep of his hand, and I nod complacently.

Truth is, I should be fired.  I totally suck as a housewife.  Not always, but right now I do.  In fact, as I sit here on my arse, typing yet another blog entry I can see dishes stacked in the sink, waiting for some soul to pick off the dried on food.  I know there are about 5 loads of laundry waiting to be folded, while another two loads sit folded on my bed, waiting for someone to put it away.  We will be lucky if they don't just get dumped back into the hamper at 11pm tonight when I drag my body off to bed and don't have the energy to deal with it.

Who, me?

Yeah.  I suck.  I'm not sure what my deal is right now but I can't find motivation to do much of anything lately.  Can I blame Mother Nature on this?  Surely this cycles too, just like every other thing that sucks about being a girl.

And the poor hubs.  He works his tail off at work, and I want more than anything for our home to a warm, welcoming and peaceful place for him to return to.  I DO want him to WANT to come home afterall.  I'll never, ever forget a book I read once at a woman's Bible Study.  The author counseled that a good wife would have the house cleaned, dinner on the table and the children cleaned and calmly tucked away when the husband came home from his hard day at work.  I laughed my butt off at that - and I only had two kids back then.

Sorry babe, can't quite live up to THAT.  But in all seriousness, I do feel some sort of responsibility to have things at least somewhat bearable around here.  And I'm definitely falling down on that job lately.  And I feel guilty.  A few days ago while hubs washed the dishes that threatened to take over the sink, I stood behind him and apologized profusely for slacking, saying I felt bad that he had to work all day and then come home and work too.

Know what he said?

"You work all day too babe".

Swoon.  How do I even deserve that?

So here's the deal, I've got to get myself in gear.  Pull out of this funk or something.  Face reality that there will ALWAYS be dishes and laundry to do - put the big girl panties on and deal with it.  It's not going away.

I don't want to give Trump a reason to flail his wimpy firing hand at me.  I can totally rock this housewife thing.  I bet Trump doesn't even know how to do laundry.

So there.