Part of this whole working on myself journey means that unfortunately Sean has to start working on himself too. Or at least, he has to deal with all my not so subtle hints at behaviors I don’t care for. I’m learning that it’s ok for me to demand more from my chosen partner in life.


My most recent book is How Not To Hate Your Husband After Kids by Jancee Dunn. It’s a very easy read and seriously funny. I recommend anyone with kids read it.
Sean and I don’t fight. In order to fight with someone, both parties have to participate. Basically I get all pissed off, eventually lose it on him, he sits quietly staring at me until I talk myself down and tell him how he feels about the problem. We agree to a solution that neither of us will follow through on, have sex, and go to bed. But not anymore, asshole. The various books I’ve buried myself in recently have all helped me take a step back and handle our day-to-day spats better. I’m less angry, I’m more patient, and poor Sean has no choice but to act out the role of guinea pig.

At first, Sean was hopeful that this particular book would be all team Dad and help get me to cut him some slack. Oh on the contrary my dear, the further I dive into these pages, the more things I find myself mad about that I didn’t realize I cared about before reading that other women are mad about them too. Basically, couples decide to have kids, and then dad gets to go about his life with the added bonus of these cute new people who he gets to love, while mom runs around trying to enjoy the bowl of soup that is life with a fork.

Yesterday after we put the girls to bed I sat down at our kitchen table prepared for our very first, what Dunn called, Maters gonna Hate, therapy discussion. I decided to try to start small. This book really helped me understand that Sean and I will look at situations, or problems, completely differently. I think he should be able to see a problem, and fix it, without having to be prompted by me first but it doesn’t work like that. According to her book, Dunn says there is a long list of biological reasons men and women inherently just act differently. I walk into a messy room and clean it. Sean walks into the same room, and doesn’t see a mess. Or so he says. 

Alright, lets say I believe that. Then the solution is for me to flat-out tell him what I need from him.

“When you are getting the girls ready for bed and your changing them out of their clothes from the day and into their pajamas, could you not just leave their dirty clothes in three separate little piles on the floor. Could you put them in the hamper, that is one foot away?”

Sean’s face was priceless. Both hilarious, and extremely helpful for the process. This asshole had no idea that he was doing that EVERY SINGLE NIGHT. He had never thought about the fact that every night he did that was followed by me picking up the piles of clothes every morning and putting them in the hamper. I guess he assumed we had a magical fairy that went around picking those piles up every day.  He laughed.

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to laugh, but I do that,” he said. “I’m sorry, I’ll stop.”

I decided to take it a step further after such a good initial response.

“Also, if you could try to put your dirty clothes inside the hamper, or down the laundry shoot, instead of directly in front of the hamper, or on the floor below the laundry shoot?”

He nods in acknowledgement that he does in fact do this too. Which is good since I’ve taken dozens of photos of evidence to show the police after I finally snap one day and get brought up on domestic abuse charges.

But look officer, the laundry shoot door was even left open…. and he still puts it on the floor.

I think if he could do these things for me, we could be happily married forever. Or at least I could stop bickering for a few days. After some very healthy relationship building sex, we both went to bed.  I wake up refreshed after a decent night of sleep (Liv only got up once, and I only had to kick Sean to stop his snoring twice). I walk into the kitchen to make my coffee and find this:

Are you fucking kidding me right now?????


Most would think this is a joke. It’s not. He does this every time the milk runs out.

I take out a notepad, and begin writing “Maters gonna hate, therapy session 2”.

I guess the no bickering lasted 8 hours? That’s pretty good right?





Mom. Wife. Boss. shirt from The Pulse Boutique



Song of the day: Alicia Keys: A Woman’s worth- I think shes really just singing about men putting their clothes in the hamper.



4 Replies to “On top of the garbage can. ”

  1. This blog hit home! We have a pull down at the front of our sink for sponges and Brillo pads etc.

    My husband cannot seem to find it even though he is the one who installed it!

    He takes the sponge out and uses it and then lays it next to the faucet instead of returning it to the pulldown.



  2. That’s a sean classic – reminds me of my father as well if you look at their trash can……or hampers ….

    You’re Sure on a rampage – I think you need to start considering screen writing for a lifetime series – I don’t think I’ve ever seen you use so many profanity words in my life sis – #wifeyrage


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