An Uncensored Day In The Life Of A Stay-At-Home Mom

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Love, Family

A Day in the Life of a Real Southern Housewife

I'm certain the soundtrack to hell is identical to the sound of my screeching alarm

Buzz buzz buzz at 6 am, get up-there are so many things to be done.

I slowly shuffle to the bathroom like those people that wear house shoes in the grocery store

Twice I nod off on the toilet and almost plummet to the cold floor.

The mirror reveals a hideous woman that must have been assaulted in the night by her pillow

Hair heading north, east and west, drooping eyes and cheeks that are jiggly like Jell-O.

I brush my teeth and tame my mane, all of the eye boogers are washed away and gone

I put on my robe stained with dollops of Clairol 8.5A Medium Champagne Blonde.

The girl is in the kitchen with her hand shoved deep inside a cereal box

Mama, we're out of milk and have you seen my neon pink socks?

Try the almond milk; it tastes good — I reach for it in the refrigerator

She gives a gag that lets me know she'd rather drink the urine of an alligator.

She keeps digging in the box and pops a handful of sugary puffs into her mouth

My husband walks into the kitchen and asks what that barbaric eating is all about.

"Mama didn't buy milk!" She blames, as husband leaves backwash in the orange juice jug

Love you, have a good day, he and the girl walk out the door after giving me a kiss and a hug.

I stare out the window at the dewy grass, and I yawn and pour the black coffee

I can hear it screaming at me from across the house, that large, stinky pile of laundry.

Whites, socks, slacks and shorts, separate them all one-by-one

There's that neon pink sock, looking to bleed on the husband's dress shirts just for fun.

Add some bleach, some fabric softener, slam the door and watch the clothes start to spin

Yawn some more and open the dryer to see if there's a forgotten load in there again.

There it is, a ball of clothes have been wrinkling for the last two days

I don't want to iron, so I turn it on to run another cycle and I yawn and shuffle away.

I hear the steps of Spiderman socks as the boy walks down the stairs

His arm is through the neck of his pirate pajamas and he has disheveled Einstein hair.

He's too young to know the specifics of milk — whether it came from an almond or a cow

I fill his cup, kiss his cheek and he asks if he can watch some television now.

We cuddle on the couch and watch grown men sing about cars and teddy bears

He eats his toaster pastries as I nod off again with my chin resting in his messy hair.

His tummy is full, he's ready to play with puzzles and trucks and trains

I'm still so sleepy, and I have no desire to sing songs and play toddler games.

It's time to get dressed and so I venture to the closet for the day's proper attire

Yoga pants and a sweat shirt are fine for the grocery store — no dress or heels required.

It takes 12 minutes to get the boy dressed, although he's only two feet tall

He doesn't like that shirt with the dinosaur — he wants the red one-no, the blue one-no, the one with the football.

He must bring 12 superhero action figures with him and wear his favorite baseball cap

By the time I get him strapped in his seat, I'm ready for both of us to nap.

It's Seniors Day at the grocery store, motorized carts with beeping horns

Octogenarians are mulling over serious decisions — creamed or whole kernel corn.

I'm stuck on the juice aisle behind polyester elastic pants and 312 years of old men and old ladies

The boy has no patience for this, and his whining is driving me crazy.

An hour later we finally make it to the lengthy checkout line

Grandmother doesn't know how to use a debit card, so she searches her white purse for 18, no, 19 dimes.

She finally quits looking for change that's not there and pulls out her leather checkbook.

She slowly writes on the check lines, and I practice my patience and give her a kind look.

Have a good day, move out of my way, my kid is on the verge of a tantrum

Take my cash, fill the plastic bags, quick, and now let me have em'.

Fill up at the gas station, make a deposit at the bank — please give my boy a red sucker

Not green, not orange, or the root beer flavor, those make his little lips pucker.

He tries to help bring the groceries inside the house, but he drops a pickle jar

He screams, he laughs, I sigh and sweep sticky relish from the garage floor.

Load the crockpot with chicken and vegetables, load the dishwasher, too

Wash more clothes, fix the little boy his PB&J and hope he'll take a nap soon.

He hasn't dozed off yet, but it's time to go get sister from the elementary school

Maybe he'll nap in the car and that will help both of our moods.

Wait in the pickup line behind a mini-van with the stick figures plastered on the back glass

Tell the boy a sleepy story about Thing 1, Thing 2, green eggs and cats in hats.

He drifts off into peaceful sleep a few minutes before sister opens the car door

She's so excited about school that day that she enters with a loud roar.

Now he's awake again, and he's mad and sister is mad, too

Baby brother won't be quiet long enough for her to tell me about the fun things at school.

I drive, she yells, he yells, we yell and he's finally asleep again

She says today was so much fun, a farmer brought chickens and hens.

When we get home, I scoop the boy up and carefully walk up the stairs to his room so dark and cozy

I tuck him in the bed, close the door and whisper for the girl not to be so noisy.

She grabs an apple, sprawls on the living room floor and opens all of her books

I pray she doesn't ask me to help her with fractions today, because at math I suck.

It's finally 5 and Daddy walks through the door and says he's feeling sick

I tell him to go to bed as the boy wakes up — we have to rush to eat and be at the ball field by 6.

I pull off the crock pot lid to see the chicken and vegetables are still cold and raw

I sigh in disgust and discover that the knob is still turned to "off."

Raid the pantry for something else to eat; I don't think we have any Spaghetti-O's

Have some beans, your plate is clean, grab your cleats, we have to go.

She bats well, but she just can't catch, I guess that's life sometimes

The boy plays in a pile of dirt and he's covered with grass stains and grime.

Sister and brother argue on the way home, my ears are bleeding, both kids are whining

Daddy is still in the bed with the sniffles, but he’s convinced that he's dying.

That's okay, you just rest, dear, I'll be glad to give them both a bath

Check homework, blow dry hair, pay two bills and fix a bedtime snack.

Read three stories, give twelve kisses, turn the thermostat up and then down

Tuck them in, say our prayers, take a shower and put on my tattered gown.

Husband needs medicine, something strong to help him breathe through both of his nose holes

Mop a sticky stain off the floor, throw out the raw chicken and scrub Salmonella from the crock pot bowl.

Spray the grass stains with Shout, put some forgotten mildewed clothes from this morning's wash in the dryer

Pile a mountain of wrinkled dry slacks and shirts on the couch for tomorra'.

Check on the children one more time, they really are precious when they are asleep

Kiss their heads, step on two Legos and try not to curse and weep.

Husband's passed out in the bed, without a care in the world

I change the television from a reality show about classic cars to The Golden Girls.

I'm in the bed, nice and warm, I can finally laugh at Betty White and relax

But my worried, busy and frantic mind refuses to cut me any slack.

Did I make that appointment, what am I forgetting, I close my eyes and try to be still

"Mama, I pee-peed in my bed," the boy calls from upstairs as I remember — I didn't buy my daughter's cow milk.

Can I let him sleep in urine soaked pajamas and sheets, or must I trek up the stairs again?

Daddy is sleeping, oh so peacefully, and I'd like to punch him square in the chin.

I grab the bannister and heave my tired body up the stairs, wondering if this day will ever end

The clock will soon buzz at 6 am, and I'll do it all over again.

This article was originally published at Whoa! Susannah. Reprinted with permission from the author.


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