Woman Realizes That She’s Been Accidentally Abusing Her Husband This Whole Time… Wow.

My “Aha Moment” happened because of a package of hamburger meat. I asked my husband to stop by the store to pick up a few things for dinner, and when he got home, he plopped the bag on the counter. I started pulling things out of the bag, and realized he’d gotten the 70/30 hamburger meat – which means it’s 70{49382ccf8aa3307257579caf6f867159d328eca730a0976815a1bacefc5bc6ee} lean and 30{49382ccf8aa3307257579caf6f867159d328eca730a0976815a1bacefc5bc6ee} fat.

I asked, “What’s this?”

“Hamburger meat,” he replied, slightly confused.

“You didn’t get the right kind,” I said.

“I didn’t?” He replied with his brow furrowed. ” Was there some other brand you wanted or something?”

“No. You’re missing the point, ” I said. “You got the 70/30. I always get at least the 80/20.”

He laughed. “Oh. That’s all? I thought I’d really messed up or something.”

That’s how it started. I launched into him. I berated him for not being smarter. Why would he not get the more healthy option? Did he even read the labels? Why can’t I trust him? Do I need to spell out every little thing for him in minute detail so he gets it right? Also, and the thing I was probably most offended by, why wasn’t he more observant? How could he not have noticed over the years what I always get? Does he not pay attention to anything I do?

As he sat there, bearing the brunt of my righteous indignation and muttering responses like, “I never noticed,” “I really don’t think it’s that big of a deal,” and “I’ll get it right next time,” I saw his face gradually take on an expression that I’d seen on him a lot in recent years. It was a combination of resignation and demoralization. He looked eerily like our son does when he gets chastised. That’s when it hit me. “Why am I doing this? I’m not his mom.”

I suddenly felt terrible. And embarrassed for myself. He was right. It really wasn’t anything to get bent out of shape over. And there I was doing just that. Over a silly package of hamburger meat that he dutifully picked up from the grocery store just like I asked. If I had specific requirements, I should have been clearer. I didn’t know how to gracefully extract myself from the conversation without coming across like I have some kind of split personality, so I just mumbled something like, “Yeah. I guess we’ll make do with this. I’m going to start dinner.”

He seemed relieved it was over and he left the kitchen.

And then I sat there and thought long and hard about what I’d just done. And what I’d been doing to him for years, probably. The “hamburger meat moment,” as I’ve come to call it, certainly wasn’t the first time I scolded him for not doing something the way I thought it should be done. He was always putting something away in the wrong place. Or leaving something out. Or neglecting to do something altogether. And I was always right there to point it out to him.

Why do I do that? How does it benefit me to constantly belittle my husband? The man that I’ve taken as my partner in life. The father of my children. The guy I want to have by my side as I grow old. Why do I do what women are so often accused of, and try to change the way he does every little thing? Do I feel like I’m accomplishing something? Clearly not if I feel I have to keep doing it. Why do I think it’s reasonable to expect him to remember everything I want and do it just that way? The instances in which he does something differently, does it mean he’s wrong? When did “my way” become “the only way?” When did it become okay to constantly correct him and lecture him and point out every little thing I didn’t like as if he were making some kind of mistake?

And how does it benefit him? Does it make him think, “Wow! I’m sure glad she was there to set me straight?” I highly doubt it. He probably feels like I’m harping on him for no reason whatsoever. And it I’m pretty sure it makes him think his best approach in regards to me is to either stop doing things around the house, or avoid me altogether.

Two cases in point. #1. I recently found a shard of glass on the kitchen floor. I asked him what happened. He said he broke a glass the night before. When I asked why he didn’t tell me, he said, “I just cleaned it up and threw it away because I didn’t want you to have a conniption fit over it.” #2. I was taking out the trash and found a pair of blue tube socks in the bin outside. I asked him what happened and why he’d thrown them away. He said, “They accidentally got in the wash with my jeans. Every time I put in laundry, you feel the need to remind me not to mix colors and whites. I didn’t want you to see them and reinforce your obvious belief that I don’t know how to wash clothes after 35 years.”

So it got to the point where he felt it was a better idea — or just plain easier — to cover things up than admit he made a human error. What kind of environment have I created where he feels he’s not allowed to make mistakes?

And let’s look at these “offenses”: A broken glass. A pair of blue tube socks. Both common mistakes that anyone could have made. But he was right. Regarding the glass, I not only pointed out his clumsiness for breaking it, but also due to the shard I found, his sad attempt at cleaning it up. As for the socks, even though he’d clearly stated it was an accident, I gave him a verbal lesson about making sure he pays more attention when he’s sorting clothes. Whenever any issues like this arise, he’ll sit there and take it for a little bit, but always responds in the end with something like, “I guess it just doesn’t matter that much to me.”

I know now that what he means is, “this thing that has you so upset is a small detail, or a matter of opinion, or a preference, and I don’t see why you’re making it such a big deal.” But from my end I came to interpret it over time that he didn’t care about my happiness or trying to do things the way I think they should be done. I came to view it like “this guy just doesn’t get it.” I am clearly the brains of this operation.

I started thinking about what I’d observed with my friends’ relationships, and things my girlfriends would complain about regarding their husbands, and I realized that I wasn’t alone. Somehow, too many women have fallen into the belief that Wife Always Knows Best. There’s even a phrase to reinforce it: “Happy wife, happy life.” That doesn’t leave a lot of room for his opinions, does it?

It’s an easy stereotype to buy into. Look at the media. Movies, TV, advertisements – they’re all filled with images of hapless husbands and clever wives. He can’t cook. He can’t take care of the kids. If you send him out to get three things, he’ll come back with two — and they’ll both be wrong. We see it again and again.

What this constant nagging and harping does is send a message to our husbands that says “we don’t respect you. We don’t think you’re smart enough to do things right. We expect you to mess up. And when you do, you’ll be called out on it swiftly and without reservation.” Given this kind of negative reinforcement over time, he feels like nothing he can do is right (in your eyes). If he’s confident with himself and who he is, he’ll come to resent you. If he’s at all unsure about himself, he’ll start to believe you, and it becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy. Neither one is a desirable, beneficial outcome to you, him or the marriage.

Did my husband do the same to me? Just as I’m sure there are untold numbers of women who don’t ever do this kind of thing to their husbands, I’m sure there are men who do it to their wives too. But I don’t think of it as a typical male characteristic. As I sat and thought about it, I realized my husband didn’t display the same behavior toward me. I even thought about some of the times I really did make mistakes. The time I backed into the gate and scratched the car? He never said a word about it. The time I was making dinner, got distracted by a call from my mom, and burned it to cinders? He just said, “We can just order a pizza.” The time I tried to put the new patio furniture together and left his good tools out in the rain? “Accidents happen,” was his only response.

I shuddered to think what I would have said had the shoe been on the other foot and he’d made those mistakes.

So is he just a better person than me? Why doesn’t he bite my head off when I don’t do things the way he likes? I’d be a fool to think it doesn’t happen. And yet I don’t remember him ever calling me out on it. It doesn’t seem he’s as intent as changing the way I do things. But why?

Maybe I should take what’s he always said at face value. The fact that these little things “really don’t matter that much to him” is not a sign that he’s lazy, or that he’s incapable of learning, or that he just doesn’t give a damn about what I want. Maybe to him, the small details are not that important in his mind — and justifiably so. They’re not the kinds of things to start fights over. They’re not the kinds of things he needs to change about me. It certainly doesn’t make him dumb or inept. He’s just not as concerned with some of the minutia as I am. And it’s why he doesn’t freak out when he’s on the other side of the fence.

The bottom line in all this is that I chose this man as my partner. He’s not my servant. He’s not my employee. He’s not my child. I didn’t think he was stupid when I married him – otherwise I wouldn’t have. He doesn’t need to be reprimanded by me because I don’t like the way he does some things.

When I got to that point mentally, it then made me start thinking about all the good things about him. He’s intelligent. He’s a good person. He’s devoted. He’s awesome with the kids. And he does always help around the house. (Just not always to my liking!) Even more, not only does he refrain from giving me grief when I make mistakes or do things differently than him, he’s always been very agreeable to my way of doing things. And for the most part, if he notices I prefer to do something a certain way, he tries to remember it in the future. Instead of focusing on those wonderful things, I just harped on the negative. And again, I know I’m not alone in this.

If we keep attempting to make our husbands feel small, or foolish, or inept because they occasionally mess up (and I use that term to also mean “do things differently than us”), then eventually they’re going to stop trying to do things. Or worse yet, they’ll actually come to believe those labels are true.

In my case it’s my husband of 12+ years I’m talking about. The same man who thanklessly changed my car tire in the rain. The guy who taught our kids to ride bikes. The person who stayed with me at the hospital all night when my mom was sick. The man who has always worked hard to make a decent living and support his family.

He knows how to change the oil in the car. He can re-install my computer’s operating system. He lifts things for me that are too heavy and opens stuck jar lids. He shovels the sidewalk. He can put up a ceiling fan. He fixes the toilet when it won’t stop running. I can’t (or don’t) do any of those things. And yet I give him grief about a dish out of place. He’s a good man who does a lot for me, and doesn’t deserve to be harassed over little things that really don’t matter in the grand scheme of things.

Since my revelation, I try to catch myself when I start to nag. I’m not always 100{49382ccf8aa3307257579caf6f867159d328eca730a0976815a1bacefc5bc6ee} consistent, but I know I’ve gotten a lot better. And I’ve seen that one little change make a big improvement in our relationship. Things seem more relaxed. We seem to be getting along better. It think we’re both starting to see each other more as trusted partners, not adversarial opponents at odds with each other in our day-to-day existence. I’ve even come to accept that sometimes his way of doing things may be better!

It takes two to make a partnership. No one is always right and no one is always wrong. And you’re not always going to see eye-to-eye on every little thing. It doesn’t make you smarter, or superior, or more right to point out every little thing he does that’s not to your liking. Ladies, remember, it’s just hamburger meat.

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Dad Writes A Letter To His Daughter About Her Future Husband

Dear Cutie-Pie,
Recently, your mother and I were searching for an answer on Google. Halfway through entering the question, Google returned a list of the most popular searches in the world. Perched at the top of the list was “How to keep him interested.”
It startled me. I scanned several of the countless articles about how to be sexy and sexual, when to bring him a beer versus a sandwich, and the ways to make him feel smart and superior.

And I got angry.

Little One, it is not, has never been, and never will be your job to “keep him interested.”

Little One, your only task is to know deeply in your soul—in that unshakeable place that isn’t rattled by rejection and loss and ego—that you are worthy of interest. (If you can remember that everyone else is worthy of interest also, the battle of your life will be mostly won. But that is a letter for another day.)

If you can trust your worth in this way, you will be attractive in the most important sense of the word: you will attract a boy who is both capable of interest and who wants to spend his one life investing all of his interest in you.

Little One, I want to tell you about the boy who doesn’t need to be kept interested, because he knows you are interesting:

I don’t care if he puts his elbows on the dinner table—as long as he puts his eyes on the way your nose scrunches when you smile. And then can’t stop looking.

I don’t care if he can’t play a bit of golf with me—as long as he can play with the children you give him and revel in all the glorious and frustrating ways they are just like you.

I don’t care if he doesn’t follow his wallet—as long as he follows his heart and it always leads him back to you.

I don’t care if he is strong—as long as he gives you the space to exercise the strength that is in your heart.

I couldn’t care less how he votes—as long as he wakes up every morning and daily elects you to a place of honor in your home and a place of reverence in his heart.

I don’t care about the color of his skin—as long as he paints the canvas of your lives with brushstrokes of patience, and sacrifice, and vulnerability, and tenderness.

I don’t care if he was raised in this religion or that religion or no religion—as long as he was raised to value the sacred and to know every moment of life, and every moment of life with you, is deeply sacred.

In the end, Little One, if you stumble across a man like that and he and I have nothing else in common, we will have the most important thing in common:

You.

Because in the end, Little One, the only thing you should have to do to “keep him interested” is to be you.

Your eternally interested guy,

Daddy

Nothing Else Could Save This Baby’s Life, That’s When Her Big Brother Performed a Miracle.

The Miracle of a Brother’s Song

Like any good mother, when Karen found out that another baby was on the way, she did what she could to help her 3-year-old son, Michael, prepare for a new sibling. They found out that the new baby was going to be a girl, and day after day, night after night, Michael sang to his little sister in Mommy’s tummy. He was building a bond of love with his little sister before he even met her. The pregnancy progressed normally for Karen.

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In time, the labor pains came. Soon it was every five minutes, every three, every minute. But serious complications arose during delivery and Karen found herself in hours of labor. Would a C-section be required? Finally, after a long struggle, Michael’s little sister was born. But she was in very serious condition.

 

With a siren howling in the night, the ambulance rushed the infant to the neonatal intensive care unit at St. Mary’s Hospital, Knoxville, Tennessee. The days inched by. The little girl got worse. The pediatric specialist regretfully had to tell the parents, “There is very little hope. Be prepared for the worst.”

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Karen and her husband contacted a local cemetery about a burial plot. They had fixed up a special room in their home for the new baby, but now they found themselves having to plan for a funeral. Michael, however, kept begging his parents to let him see his sister. “I want to sing to her,” he kept saying. Week two in intensive care looked as if a funeral would come before the week was over. Michael kept nagging about singing to his sister, but kids are never allowed in the Intensive Care Unit. Karen made up her mind, though. She would take Michael whether they liked it or not! If he didn’t see his sister right then, he may never see her alive.

 

She dressed him in an oversized scrub suit and marched him into ICU. He looked like a walking laundry basket, but the head nurse recognized him as a child and bellowed “Get that kid our of here, now! NO children are allowed.” The mother rose up strong in Karen, and the usually mild-mannered lady glared steel-eyed right into the head nurse’s face, her lips a firm line. “He is not leaving until he sings to his sister.”

 

Karen towed Michael to his sister’s bedside. He gazed at the tiny infant losing the battle to live. After a moment, he began to sing. In the pure hearted voice of a 3 year old Michael sang: “You are my sunshine, my only sunshine, you make me happy when skies are gray.” Instantly the baby girl seemed to respond. Her pulse rate began to calm down and become steady. “Keep on singing Michael,” encouraged Karen with tears in her eyes. “You’ll never know, dear, how much I love you. Please don’t take my sunshine away.”

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As Michael sang to his sister, the baby’s ragged, strained breathing became as smooth as a kitten’s purr. “Keep on singing, sweetheart!” “The other night, dear, as I lay sleeping, I dreamed I held you in my hands…” Michael’s little sister began to relax and rest. A healing rest seemed to sweep over her. “Keep on singing, Michael.” Tears had now conquered the face of the bossy head nurse. Karen glowed. “You are my sunshine, my only sunshine. Please don’t take my sunshine away…” The next, day … the very next day … the little girl was well enough to go home!

 

“Women’s Day Magazine” called it “The Miracle of a Brother’s Song.” The medical staff just called it a miracle. Karen called it a miracle of God’s love.

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Mom Receives Best Note Ever From Son After Divorce From Abusive Husband

I’m a divorce Lawyer. At times I feel as if I’ve heard and seen it all. But ten years ago, a woman walked into my office with a whole new agenda, and neither my life nor my practice has been the same since. Her name was Barbara, and as she was shown to my office, wearing a rather “plain Jane” outfit, I guessed her to be about nineteen and fairly innocent. I was wrong. She was thirty-two, with four children between the ages of three and nine.

I’ve heard many brutal stories, but the physical, mental and sexual abuse that Barbara had suffered at the hands of her husband made me sick to my stomach. Yet she finished a description of her circumstances by saying, “Mr. Concolino, you know, it isn’t all his fault. My children and I have remained in this situation by my choice; I take responsibility for that. I’ve known the end to my suffering would come only when I decided I’d suffered enough, and I’ve made that decision. I’m breaking the cycle.”

I’d been practicing law for fifteen years at that point, and I’ve got to admit that in my head, I was getting great pleasure from thoughts of nailing that guy to the wall.

“Do you believe in forgiveness, Mr. Concolino?” she asked.

“Yes, of course,” I said. “I believe what goes around comes around, and if we try to do the right thing, good comes back to us. The clients of mine who have withheld forgiveness have withheld it only from themselves.”

Those words were so common for me that they practically spoke themselves. And yet, if anyone had cause to be full of rage, Barbara did.

“I believe in forgiveness, too,” she said quietly. “I believe that if I hold on to anger at my husband it will only fuel the fire of conflict, and my children are the ones who will get burned.”

She gave a tremulous smile. “The problem is, kids are very smart. They can tell if I haven’t truly forgiven their dad … if I am just saying words. So I have to really release my anger.

“And here is where I need a favor from you.”

I leaned forward across my desk.

“I don’t want this divorce to be bitter. I don’t want all the blame put onto him. The thing I most want is to truly forgive him, and to have both you and me conduct ourselves accordingly.” She paused and looked me in the eye. “And I want you to promise to hold me to this.”

I’ve got to say, this request was against my best lawyerly business advice. But it fit my best human advice, hand in glove.

“I’ll do my best” I said.

It wasn’t easy. Barbara’s husband had no interest in taking the high road. The next decade was marked with his ugly character assassinations of her and repeated periods of nonpayment of child support. There were even times she could have had him thrown in jail but she never would.

After yet another court session that went in her favor, she caught me in a corridor. “You’ve kept your promise, Bob’” she said, and she laughed, “I admit that there have been times I wanted to curse you for making me stick to my beliefs. I still wonder sometimes if it’s been worth it. But thanks.”

I knew what she meant. In my opinion, her ex continued to violate normal standards of decency. Yet she had never responded in kind.

Barbara ultimately found and married the love of her fife. Although matters were settled legally, I always enjoyed getting her Christmas card, hearing how the family was doing.

Then one day I received a call. “Bob, it’s Barbara. I need to come in and show you something.”

“Of course,” I said.

Now what, I thought. How long is this guy going to keep at this? How long before she finally cracks?

The woman who walked into my office was lovely and poised, full of so much more confidence than she had possessed ten years earlier. Three men seemed to be a bounce to her step.

As I stood to greet her, she handed me a photo, an eight-by-ten, taken during her oldest son’s senior year in high school. John was wearing football uniform; his father stood to his left rigidly and coldly. The boy himself was looking proudly at his mom, who stood close to him, a warm smile on her face. I knew from her Christmas letters that he had graduated from a very well-respected private high school.

“This was after he caught the winning touchdown in the championship game” she grinned. “Did I mention that game gave their team the number-one ranking in America?”

“I think I heard something about it”‘ I smiled. “Read the back” she said.

I turned the photograph over to see what her son had written.

‘Mom,

I want you to know that you have been the best mom and dad a boy could ever have. I know because of how Dad worked so hard to make our lives so miserable. Even when he refused to pay all he was supposed to pay for school, you worked extra just to make sure none of us missed out. I think the best thing you did was what you did not do. You never spoke bad about Dad. You never told me he had other “new” kids to support; he did.

With all my love, I thank you for not raising us in a home where the other parent was the bad one, like with my friends who went through divorces. Dad is and has been a jerk, I know it, not because of you, but because he chose to be. I do love you both (you would probably still slap my behind if I said I didn’t love Dad), But I love, respect and admire you more than anybody on the face of the earth.

Love,
John’

Barbara beamed at me. And we both knew it had been worth it.

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Her Husband Refused To Be There For The Birth Of Their Child. Her Response Is Hilarious.

A young couple were having their first child together, and both of them were extremely excited. However, the husband absolutely refused to be in the room with his wife while the actual birth was taking place.

“There’s no way you can get me in there,” he would always say. “I don’t know why husbands are expected to even be there during the birth, it’s not like we contribute in any way. And besides, I don’t want to see.. all THAT going on down there.”

The wife thought her husband was being immature, and she pleaded and argued with him all the time. Eventually, she managed to convince him to be there for her.

“But I’m still not going to look,” he said. “I’ll be there, I’ll hold your hand, but there is no way I’m taking a peek.”

“Fine,” said the woman.

The day of the birth finally arrives, everything is on time and the baby and mother seem perfectly healthy. The husband sits in the corner of the room with a sullen look on his face.

He promised to be there for her, but now he was so cold and distant that he might as well have been in a separate room. This was supposed to be the best day of their lives and he was just being a huge grouch!

But the wife knew what to do to get back at him. She smiled to herself, and waited to exact her revenge.

The birth finally took place. It went relatively easily even though the wife was in a huge amount of pain. The doctors and nurses helped tremendously with their kind and encouraging words, while the husband just sat silently, clutching at her hand, turning his head away from his wife.

Finally, the time came when both parents could see the baby. Of course, now the husband wanted a peek, now he was excited, even though he wanted nothing to do with the actual birth.

So when the mother held the small baby boy in her arms, she started commenting on its features. “Look at that, he has your nose!” said the wife.

“And he has your beautiful eyes!” said the husband.

The nurses and doctors were still nearby, and the woman said, “Wow, our baby actually looks SO MUCH like you.” Then she uncovered the baby’s towel slightly and glanced down. “He even has your pecker, same size and everything!”

There was a moment of awkward silence. The husband’s face went bright red as the nurses and doctors struggled not to laugh. He looked his wife in the eye, smiled, and started to laugh.

After talking to his wife about why she said what she did, the husband learned a valuable lesson – supporting your spouse doesn’t just mean supporting them through the easy stuff. It means being there, really being there, during the hard times too.

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A Husband’s Amazing Response To ‘She’s A Stay-At-Home Mom? What Does She DO All Day?’

Matt Walsh is tired of people telling him how lucky his wife is to be a stay-at-home mom and to not be “working”. This is his message to those people:
It’s happened twice in a week, and they were both women. Anyone ought to have more class than this, but women — especially women — should damn well know better.
Last week, I was at the pharmacy and a friendly lady approached me.

“Matt! How are those little ones doing?”

“Great! They’re doing very well, thanks for asking.”

“Good to hear. How ’bout your wife? Is she back at work yet?”

“Well she’s working hard at home, taking care of the kids. But she’s not going back into the workforce, if that’s what you mean.”

“Oh fun! That must be nice!”

“Fun? It’s a lot of hard work. Rewarding, yes. Fun? Not always.”

This one wasn’t in-your-face. It was only quietly presumptuous and subversively condescending.

The next incident occurred today at the coffee shop. It started in similar fashion; a friendly exchange about how things are coming along with the babies. The conversation quickly derailed when the woman hit me with this:

“So is your wife staying at home permanently?”

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“Permanently? Well, for the foreseeable future she will be raising the kids full time, yes.”

“Yeah, mine is 14 now. But I’ve had a career the whole time as well. I can’t imagine being a stay at home mom. I would get so antsy. [Giggles] What does she DO all day?”

“Oh, just absolutely everything. What do you do all day?”

“…Me? Ha! I WORK!”

“My wife never stops working. Meanwhile, it’s the middle of the afternoon and we’re both at a coffee shop. I’m sure my wife would love to have time to sit down and drink a coffee. It’s nice to get a break, isn’t it?”

The conversation ended less amicably than it began.

Look, I don’t cast aspersions on women who work outside of the home. I understand that many of them are forced into it because they are single mothers, or because one income simply isn’t enough to meet the financial needs of their family. Or they just choose to work because that’s what they want to do. Fine. I also understand that most “professional” women aren’t rude, pompous and smug, like the two I met recently.

But I don’t want to sing Kumbaya right now. I want to kick our backwards, materialistic society in the shins and say, “GET YOUR FREAKING HEAD ON STRAIGHT, SOCIETY.”

This conversation shouldn’t be necessary. I shouldn’t need to explain why it’s insane for anyone — particularly other women — to have such contempt and hostility for “stay at home” mothers. Are we really so shallow? Are we really so confused? Are we really the first culture in the history of mankind to fail to grasp the glory and seriousness of motherhood? The pagans deified Maternity and turned it into a goddess. We’ve gone the other direction; we treat it like a disease or an obstacle.

The people who completely immerse themselves in the tiring, thankless, profoundly important job of raising children ought to be put on a pedestal. We ought to revere them and admire them like we admire rocket scientists and war heroes. These women are doing something beautiful and complicated and challenging and terrifying and painful and joyous and essential. Whatever they are doing, they ARE doing something, and our civilization DEPENDS on them doing it well. Who else can say such a thing? What other job carries with it such consequences?

It’s true — being a mom isn’t a “job.” A job is something you do for part of the day and then stop doing. You get a paycheck. You have unions and benefits and break rooms. I’ve had many jobs; it’s nothing spectacular or mystical. I don’t quite understand why we’ve elevated “the workforce” to this hallowed status. Where do we get our idea of it? The Communist Manifesto? Having a job is necessary for some — it is for me — but it isn’t liberating or empowering. Whatever your job is — you are expendable. You are a number. You are a calculation. You are a servant. You can be replaced, and you will be replaced eventually. Am I being harsh? No, I’m being someone who has a job. I’m being real.

If your mother quit her role as mother, entire lives would be turned upside down; society would suffer greatly. The ripples of that tragedy would be felt for generations. If she quit her job as a computer analyst, she’d be replaced in four days and nobody would care. Same goes for you and me. We have freedom and power in the home, not the office. But we are zombies, so we can not see that.

Yes, my wife is JUST a mother. JUST. She JUST brings forth life into the universe, and she JUST shapes and molds and raises those lives. She JUST manages, directs and maintains the workings of the household, while caring for children who JUST rely on her for everything. She JUST teaches our twins how to be human beings, and, as they grow, she will JUST train them in all things, from morals, to manners, to the ABC’s, to hygiene, etc. She is JUST my spiritual foundation and the rock on which our family is built. She is JUST everything to everyone. And society would JUST fall apart at the seams if she, and her fellow moms, failed in any of the tasks I outlined.

Yes, she is just a mother. Which is sort of like looking at the sky and saying, “hey, it’s just the sun.”

Of course not all women can be at home full time. It’s one thing to acknowledge that; it’s quite another to paint it as the ideal. To call it the ideal, is to claim that children IDEALLY would spend LESS time around their mothers. This is madness. Pure madness. It isn’t ideal, and it isn’t neutral. The more time a mother can spend raising her kids, the better. The better for them, the better for their souls, the better for the community, the better for humanity. Period.

Finally, it’s probably true that stay at home moms have some down time. People who work outside the home have down time, too. In fact, there are many, many jobs that consist primarily of down time, with little spurts of menial activity strewn throughout. In any case, I’m not looking to get into a fight about who is “busier.” We seem to value our time so little, that we find our worth based on how little of it we have. In other words, we’ve idolized “being busy,” and confused it with being “important.” You can be busy but unimportant, just as you can be important but not busy. I don’t know who is busiest, and I don’t care. It doesn’t matter. I think it’s safe to say that none of us are as busy as we think we are; and however busy we actually are, it’s more than we need to be.

We get a lot of things wrong in our culture. But, when all is said and done, and our civilization crumbles into ashes, we are going to most regret the way we treated mothers and children.

This article is re-posted and originally written by Matt Walsh on his blog.

This Cop Responded To A Shocking Domestic Violence Call. But He Didn’t Expect This Letter.

After arresting a man who had been striking his pregnant girlfriend, Officer Patrick Kinney proceeded to talk to the victim and discovered that she was struggling desperately to feed her three-year-old son and had run out of diapers. He knew that he had to help this poor mother, and he did so without expecting anything in return. When North Bend Police Chief Robert Kappelman received word of what Officer Kinney had done, he wrote Kinney this letter of commendation.

To: Officer Patrick Kinney

From: Chief Robert Kappelman

Re: Letter Of Commendation – Going the Distance (#N20144501)

On Friday, October, 3, 2014, you responded to a domestic violence call where a male was arrested for striking his pregnant girlfriend. While another officer transported the male to the county jail you continued assisting the family. You learned that during the scuffle, a bowl of noodles was thrown, wasting the only food this pregnant woman’s two-year-old son was to have for the day. You further learned that the woman only had some grapes and one diaper left for the entire weekend. They had no money and no transportation to a food pantry. In your report, you indicate, ‘I made some arrangements to ensure that [name removed] had enough food and diapers to get her through a few days.’ Yesterday, I learned what you really did when you ‘made arrangements.’

Enlisting the help of your wife, you gathered some items from your church’s food pantry and from your own home pantry. While your wife gathered these things, you went to the grocery store and, using your own money, filled your cruiser with food and staples like bread, milk, eggs, fruit, and diapers. The mother cried as you delivered her groceries.

Officer Kinney, the only reason I knew about the kind acts of you and your wife was because another police department’s employee’s family member saw you at the grocery store. You were content not having anyone else knowing about your actions. I am not.

Your selfless acts are the epitome of human kindness and an example for the rest of us. Thank you for going the distance. I am so proud to work with you!

Sincerely,

Robert F. Kappelman,

Chief Of Police.

Most cops are just regular guys trying to help others. But for some reason only the negative ones make the headlines.

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This Mom Finds Herself In An Uncomfortable Position

A woman named Emily renewing her driver’s licence at the County Clerk’s office was asked by the clerk to state her occupation. She hesitated, uncertain how to classify herself.

“What I mean is,” explained the clerk, “do you have a job, or are you just a …?

“Of course I have a job,” snapped Emily. “I’m a Mum.”

“We don’t list ‘Mum’ as an occupation… ‘housewife’ covers it,” said the clerk emphatically.
I forgot all about her story until one day I found myself in the same situation, this time at our local police station. The Clerk was obviously a career woman, poised, efficient, and possessed of a high sounding title like, “Official Interrogator” or “Town Registrar.”

“What is your occupation?” she probed.

What made me say it, I do not know… The words simply popped out.

“I’m a Research Associate in the field of Child Development and Human Relations.”

The clerk paused, pen frozen in midair, and looked up as though she had not heard right. I repeated the title slowly, emphasizing the most significant words. Then I stared with wonder as my pronouncement was written in bold, black ink on the official questionnaire!

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“Might I ask,” said the clerk with new interest, “just what you do in your field?”

Coolly, without any trace of fluster in my voice, I heard myself reply, “I have a continuing programme of research, (what mother doesn’t), in the laboratory and in the field, (normally I would have said indoors and out). I’m working for my Masters, (the whole family), and already have four credits, (all daughters). Of course, the job is one of the most demanding in the humanities, (any mother care to disagree.?) and I often work 14 hours a day, (24 is more like it). But the job is more challenging than most run-of-the-mill careers and the rewards are more of a satisfaction rather than just money.” There was an increasing note of respect in the girl’s voice as she completed the form, stood up, and personally ushered me to the door.

When I got home, buoyed up by my glamorous new career, I was greeted by my lab assistants -ages 10, 7, and 3. Upstairs, I could hear our new experimental model, (a 6 month old baby), in the child-development programme, testing out a new vocal pattern. I felt I had triumphed over bureaucracy! And I had gone on the official records as someone more distinguished and indispensable to mankind than “just another Mum.” Motherhood…What a glorious career! Especially when there’s a title on the door.

Does this make grandmothers “Senior Research Associates in the field of Child Development and Human Relations”, and great grandmothers “Executive Senior Research Associates”??? I think so!!! I also think it makes Aunts “Associate Research Assistants”.

This Girl Did This After A Boy Snapped Her Bra At School

(I’m an A&E nurse. We’re not allowed [to keep] our phones on us; they’re to be kept in our lockers. A call comes into hospital reception on a private line for me.)
Phone: “This is [Teacher] from [School]. There’s been an incident involving [Daughter]. We need you to come in.”

Me: “Is she ill or injured? Can it wait until my shift is over in two hours?”

Phone: “[Daughter] has struck another pupil. We’ve been trying to call you for 45 minutes. It really is very serious.”

(I go to the school and am ushered into the head’s office. I see my daughter, her head of year, a male teacher, the headmaster, a boy with blood around his nose and a red face, and his parents.)

Head: “Mrs. [My Name], how kind of you to FINALLY join us!”

Me: “Yeah, things get busy in A&E. I’ve spent the last hour administering over 40 stitches to a seven-year-old who was beaten by his mother with a metal ladle and then I had to deal with the police regarding the matter. Sorry for the inconvenience.”

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(After watching him try to not act embarrassed, he tells me what has happened. The boy had twanged my daughter’s bra and she had punched him in the face twice. I got the impression they were more angry with my daughter than the boy.)

Me: “Oh. And you want to know if I’m going to press charges against him for sexually assaulting my daughter and against the school for allowing him to do it?”

(They all get jittery when I mention sexual assault and start speaking at once.)

Teacher: “I don’t think it was that serious.”

Head Of Year: “Let’s not over-react.”

Head: “I think you’re missing the point.”

(The boy’s mother then starts crying. I turn to my daughter to find out what happened.)

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Daughter: “He kept pinging my bra. I asked him to stop but he didn’t, so I told Mr. [Teacher]. He told me to ‘ignore it.’ [Boy] did it again and undid my bra so I hit him. Then he stopped.”

(I turn to the teacher.)

Me: “You let him do this? Why didn’t you stop him? Come over here and let me touch the front of your trousers.”

Teacher: “What?! No!”

Me: “Does that seem inappropriate to you? Why don’t you go and pull on Mrs. [Head Of Year]’s bra right now. See how fun it is for her. Or on that boy’s mum’s bra. Or mine. You think just because they’re kids it’s fun?”

Head: “Mrs. [My Name]. With all due respect, [Daughter] still beat another child.”

Me: “No. She defended herself against a sexual attack from another pupil. Look at them; he’s nearly 6 feet and 11 or 12 stone. She’s 5 feet and 6 stone. He’s a foot taller than her and twice as heavy. How many times should she have let him touch her? If the person who was supposed to help and protect her in a classroom couldn’t be bothered what should she have done? He pulled her bra so hard it came undone.”

(The boy’s mum is still crying and his dad looks both angry and embarrassed. The teacher won’t make eye contact with me. I look at the headmaster.)

Me: “I’m taking her home. I think the boy has learnt his lesson. And I hope nothing like this ever happens again, not only to [Daughter], but to any other girl at this school. You wouldn’t let him do it to a member of staff so what makes you think he can do it to a girl of 15 is beyond me. I will be reporting this to the governors. And if you–” *turning to the boy* “–EVER touch my daughter again I WILL have you arrested for sexual assault. Do you understand me?”

(I was so angry I gathered my daughter’s things and left. I reported it to the Board of Governors, several of whom I know from Church (it’s a Catholic school), and was assured it would be strongly dealt with. I also reported it to OFSTED (Government-run school monitoring) and they were equally as horrified and assured me they would contact the school. My daughter was put into a different class for that subject, away from the teacher and the boy.)

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Couple Hides Son’s Illness From Daughter. What Happened Next Blew Them Away.

Miracles are not advertised in shops. You will not find them listed on a website on the Internet. And you definitely won’t see them in a corner shop near you.
Yet somehow, this little girl was able to buy a miracle, for just one dollar and eleven cents.

Tess was a precocious eight-year-old when she heard her Mom and Dad talking about her little brother, Andrew. All she knew was that he was very sick and they were completely out of money. They were moving to an apartment complex next month because Daddy didn’t have the money for the doctor’s bills and our house. Only a very costly surgery could save him now and it was looking like there was no one to loan them the money. She heard Daddy say to her tearful Mother with whispered desperation, “Only a miracle can save him now.”

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Tess went to her bedroom and pulled a glass jar from its hiding place in the closet. She poured all the change out on the floor and counted it carefully, Three times. The total had to be exactly perfect. No chance here for mistakes. Carefully placing the coins back in the jar and twisting on the cap, she slipped out the back door and made her way 6 blocks to Rexall’s Drug Store with the big Red Indian Chief sign above the door.

She waited patiently for the pharmacist to give her some attention but he was too busy at this moment. Tess twisted her feet to make a scuffing noise. Nothing. She cleared her throat with the most disgusting sound she could muster. No good. Finally she took a quarter from her jar and banged it on the glass counter.

That did it! “And what do you want?” the pharmacist asked in an annoyed tone of voice. “I’m talking to my brother from Chicago whom I haven’t seen in ages,” he said without waiting for a reply to his question.

“Well, I want to talk to you about my brother,” Tess answered back in the same annoyed tone. “He’s really, really sick…and I want to buy a miracle.”

“I beg your pardon?” said the pharmacist.

“His name is Andrew and he has something bad growing inside his head and my Daddy says only a miracle can save him now. So how much does a miracle cost?”

“We don’t sell miracles here, little girl. I’m sorry but I can’t help you,” the pharmacist said, softening a little.

“Listen, I have the money to pay for it. If it isn’t enough, I will get the rest. Just tell me how much it costs.”

The pharmacist’s brother was a well-dressed man. He stooped down and asked the little girl, “What kind of a miracle does your brother need?”

“I don’t know,” Tess replied with her eyes welling up. “I just know he’s really sick and Mommy says he needs an operation. But my Daddy can’t pay for it, so I want to use my money.”

“How much do you have?” asked the man from Chicago.

“One dollar and eleven cents,” Tess answered barely audibly. “And it’s all the money I have, but I can get some more if I need to.”

“Well, what a coincidence,” smiled the man. “A dollar and eleven cents — the exact price of a miracle for your little brother.”

He took her money in one hand and with the other hand he grasped her mitten and said “Take me to where you live. I want to see your brother and meet your parents. Let’s see if I have the kind of miracle you need.”

That well dressed man was Dr. Carlton Armstrong, a surgeon, specializing in neuro-surgery. The operation was completed without charge and it wasn’t long until Andrew was home again and doing well. Mom and Dad were happily talking about the chain of events that had led them to this place.

“That surgery,” her Mom whispered, “Was a real miracle. I wonder how much it would have cost?”

Tess smiled. She knew exactly how much a miracle cost…one dollar and eleven cents.

Mom Gives Best Reply Ever When Asked What The Apron Is Used For

Do you know the story behind the apron? For most people, it’s a piece of clothing they use everyday, in the kitchen or at work. For some, it’s a kink, or at least part of it.

However, the apron used to be more important, much more important than you could imagine.

I don’t think our kids know what an apron is.

The principal use of Grandma’s apron was to protect the dress underneath, because she only had a few, it was easier to wash aprons than dresses and they used less material, but along with that, it served as a potholder for removing hot pans from the oven.

It was wonderful for drying children’s tears, and on occasion was even used for cleaning out dirty ears.

From the chicken coop, the apron was used for carrying eggs, fussy chicks, and sometimes half-hatched eggs to be finished in the warming oven.

When company came, those aprons were ideal hiding places for shy kids…

And when the weather was cold grandma wrapped it around her arms.

Those big old aprons wiped many a perspiring brow, bent over the hot wood stove.

Chips and kindling wood were brought into the kitchen in that apron.

From the garden, it carried all sorts of vegetables. After the peas had been shelled, it carried out the hulls.

In the fall, the apron was used to bring in apples that had fallen from the trees.

When unexpected company drove up the road, it was surprising how much furniture that old apron could dust in a matter of seconds.

When dinner was ready, Grandma walked out onto the porch, waved her apron, and the men-folk knew it was time to come in from the fields to dinner.

It will be a long time before someone invents something that will replace that ‘old-time apron’ that served so many purposes.

REMEMBER:

Grandma used to set her hot baked apple pies on the window sill to cool. Her granddaughters set theirs on the window sill to thaw.

They would go crazy now trying to figure out how many germs were on that apron.

I don’t think I ever caught anything from an apron…But Love.

Pass this on if it reminds you of your own childhood.

They Called Him Names & Abused Him Behind His Back

“I’m sitting here watching a man slowly die with his family around him praying for a miracle.”

That’s what SFPD Officer Roger Morse wrote on Facebook the other day.

Officer Morse works out of the Bayview Station.

It’s a tough beat.

But he’s there by choice.

He’s there because he says he wants to help people.

Officer Morse’ post is raw and emotional.

He told me:

“At that moment I felt I needed to share with my non cop friends what I actually go through.

Writing (the post) kept me from breaking down while watching the doctors attempt to bring him back.”

Here’s what Officer Morse wrote in his post:

“I’m sitting here watching a man slowly die with his family around him praying for a miracle that the trauma team knows will not come.

We are watching the numbers on all his machines count down as the plethora of drugs fail to keep him alive, a painful slow motion.

This is just one of the things I get paid to do, for I job I love doing.

You may hate me because you ran a stop sign and now have a ticket for a law I am paid very well to enforce, but understand that most of my job is pain and death and not to pick on somebody I don’t even know.

I can tell you that my partner and I walked in on an 11yr old who just hung himself from his bunk bed because his mom was mad at him.

My partner was amazing in trying to bring him back, but we could not.

We didn’t go home.

We didn’t quit.

We got back in our patrol car and handled calls until we were ordered to return to the station.

I will do the exact same after what I am doing right now.

I might even pull you over for something minor like a break light out.

This is not because I am tough, not because it doesn’t bother me, not because I am a d–k cop, but rather it helps me move on from the trauma my brain has just gone through and the piece of soul that was ripped out.

So, next time you’re stopped for “something stupid by an a–hole cop”, know that she/he might have just come from holding the head up of a 13yr who was shot in the head and drowning in his own blood.

You don’t have to like me because of what I do, that’s fine.

I’ll continue to respond to the most dangerous areas and provide assistance as my job, my duty, my oath, my honor, and my integrity require.

I just want to give you a small understanding and insight.

I don’t need this post filled with I love yous n such, it’s not for that.”

Officer Roger Morse
Bayview Station

There are such strong feelings about police both pro and con.

And that’s why I wanted to post what Officer Morse wrote.

I think it’s important for people to see the side of police work that he’s talking about.

My hope is that this will give people a better/different understanding of what police do on a daily basis.

As always I welcome your thoughts.

Whether you agree or disagree.

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Her Parents Did Not Expect To Find This Note After She Passed Away

A little girl stood near a small church from which she had been turned away because it was ‘too crowded.’

‘I can’t go to Sunday School,’ she sobbed to the pastor as he walked by.

Seeing her shabby, unkempt appearance, the pastor guessed the reason and, taking her by the hand, took her inside and found a place for her in the Sunday school class. The child was so happy that they found room for her, and she went to bed that night thinking of the children who have no place to go.

Some two years later, this child lay dead in one of the poor tenement buildings. Her parents called for the kindhearted pastor who had befriended their daughter to handle the final arrangements.

As her poor little body was being moved, a worn and crumpled red purse was found which seemed to have been rummaged from some trash dump.

Inside was found 57 cents and a note, scribbled in childish handwriting, which read: ‘This is to help build the little church bigger so more children can go to Sunday School.’

For two years she had saved for this offering of love.

When the pastor tearfully read that note, he knew instantly what he would do. Carrying this note and the cracked, red pocketbook to the pulpit, he told the story of her unselfish love and devotion.

He challenged his deacons to get busy and raise enough money for the larger building.
But the story does not end there…

A newspaper learned of the story and published it. It was read by a wealthy realtor who offered them a parcel of land worth many thousands.

When told that the church could not pay so much, he offered to sell it to the little church for 57 cents.

Church members made large donations. Checks came from far and wide. Within five years the little girl’s gift had increased to $25o,000.00–a huge sum for that time (near the turn of the century). Her unselfish love had paid large dividends.

When you are in the city of Philadelphia, look up Temple Baptist Church , with a seating capacity of 3,300. And be sure to visit Temple University, where thousands of students are educated.

Have a look, too, at the Good Samaritan Hospital and at a Sunday School building which houses hundreds of beautiful children, built so that no child in the area will ever need to be left outside during Sunday school time.

In one of the rooms of this building may be seen the picture of the sweet face of the little girl whose 57 cents, so sacrificially saved, made such remarkable history. Alongside of it is a portrait of her kind pastor, Dr. Russell H. Conwell, author of the book, ‘Acres of Diamonds’.

This is a true story, which goes to show JUST HOW FAR 57 CENTS CAN GO.

SHARE if you believe this child is an inspiration.

This Mom’s Letter To Her Kids About Summer Has Parents Everywhere Laughing

This mom wrote a letter to her children that perfectly sums up what summer’s like with kids…

Hey Kids,

Feel free to leave your stuff wherever you want this summer. Half-finished smoothies in the family room? No problem. I got it. Socks in the hall. I’m on it. Dishes in the sink? Keep ’em coming. Legos? Everywhere? Love it. Oh, and feel free to drag your blankets all over the house and abandon them the moment you no longer want them. I’ll fold them lovingly for you and return them to your rooms.

And doors? Shutting them is optional. I’m right behind you, so, seriously, don’t worry about it. I love when the wasps get in and the air conditioning gets out. Who are we to be sequestered in our climate-controlled house? Open door policy in this house. We have endless money.

And it’s totally fine to leave your wet bathing suits and towels on any surface, from the floor to the banister. I love heaps, but be creative! Oh, and putting them on painted wood surfaces is the best. I’ll grab them so they don’t warp the wood. You’re busy. Stop. Get back to your Netflix. Friends is not going to binge-watch itself.

And let me know when you are hungry. Don’t be encumbered by normal meal times. And please don’t coordinate with each other. The kitchen is open 24/7, and I’m happy to whip up anything you need, whenever you need it. I majored in short-order cooking.

And if you make something yourself, just leave every single item exactly where you last needed it. Milk, too. If it goes bad… I’ll just buy more. Money? Please. I’ll just work more. And I’ve got the clean-up. I will walk in your footsteps and put things away. It’s fun for me to live vicariously through your cooking. Like, Wow, how did they get so much shredded cheese on the counter? Impressive.

And every time you are thirsty… get a new glass. We have tons. And a dishwasher I love to load and unload. Not to mention, as far as I know, endless electricity and water. The world is our oyster.

And if something comes up with your friends? I’m in. I’ll drive you there or back — or, heck, both. I mean, I have a car and a license. I should put it to good use. And please, no need to give me any advance notice. I can easily stop whatever I’m doing, even work, to take you. I know how valuable your time is. Need some money for the movies? You got it, kiddo.

And to the little one, when you feel like it, I’ll take you to the pool. Before we go, you can complain and squirm while I put on your sunscreen. Don’t hold back. Just be you. Express how you’re feeling. It is cold, isn’t it? I love the challenge you pose me by inching away slowly as I’m applying it. Good stretch for my arms and back. Kind of you to think of me.

And just one thing on goggles. I’m on it. Don’t bother to keep track of yours. I’ve made it my summer mission to know where your goggles are at all times (in the car… left side… wedged in between the seats). At night, I’m sleeping with them under my pillow. We can’t be too careful. How will you swim without them?

Just a few last-minute housekeeping items: Eye rolling? Yes! I love the immediate feedback on my thoughts and ideas. How else can I gauge if I’m pleasing you or not? Showering? Optional. You know what’s best. I defer to you. Wearing a hat? No way. The more sun the better. Chores? Just tell me when it’s a good time for you. The weeds and messes aren’t going anywhere.

One last thing… please always wear your headphones so that you can’t hear me when I’m talking to you. Communication is totally overrated. Little-known fact about me: I love yelling things at the top of my lungs three or four times with no response. It’s very cathartic. Look it up.

Well, call me crazy, but if you guys follow all of these guidelines, I think this summer is going to be a win for all of us.

Or, if you don’t understand sarcasm, you won’t make it until July. Either way…

Love you guys.

Two Women Go Out Drinking Without Their Husbands. This Is Perfect.

Two women go out one weekend without their husbands.

They go to a bar, have a chat along with a couple of drinks and then head back home. On their way home one of them turns to the other and says:

“Sorry, but I need to go to a toilet. Can we stop for a minute?”

The other looks at her and replies “I also have to go there, but where can we go in the middle of the street?”

“Oh look, there is a cemetery over there, we can go there.”

“Yes, but how are we going to wipe?”

“I’m just going to use my underwear and throw it out.”

Her friend however, was wearing her favourite (and rather expensive knickers) and didn’t want to ruin them. So She elected to take a wreath off a nearby grave and use that.

And so they went home.

The next day, the husband of one of the women was concerned that his normally sweet and innocent wife was hungover and still in bed, so he phoned the other husband.

“Do you know where our wives went last night? Because mine came back home with no underwear.”

“Well, you’re luckier than me, my wife came home with a ribbon stuck to her a$$ and on the ribbon it was written: ‘From all of us at the  Fire Station. We’ll never forget you’.”

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Angry Wife Writes Best Letter Ever to Husband’s Mistress

Thank you Jennifer,

…For leaving bite marks all over my husband’s chest last night.

No, really, Thank You! You have no idea what a nightmare you have just saved me and my kids from.

To reward you for your services I am offering you my husband for keeps. Should you accept your prize please note the following rules.

1. You are going to have to financially support him. I say this because we have 2 children together (but you knew that) which means that he will have to give up a sizeable chunk of his pay to support them in the manner they deserve. Please keep in mind that since he has kept me a stay at home Mom for the better part of the last 11 years he will also be paying me alimony. So forget about his money honey…..cause it’s mine!

2. You will have to provide him with new attire. You see after he stepped from our (now mine) shower this morning dripping wet and naked is when I discovered your little “love bites”. It just so happened that at that EXACT moment a giant black hole appeared in my home and devoured almost all of his clothing. Therefore he will come to you almost naked (lucky you). The bright side is that you can dress him any way you want. Go nuts and buy him a leash and some vinyl attire or a cute little dress while you’re at it.

3. You will have to give him up every other weekend. This time will be set aside for his visits with his children. Since he openly admitted (in front of several people) that you are just “some dumb drunk bitch” that he met at a “tweakers” house you will be banned from these visits for fear of my children?s safety. Just so you know, that is also going to be the reason to have his visits limited (if not supervised). After all WTF was HE doing at a “tweakers” house in the first place?

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4. You will not be having a proper sex life. Yes, I know that you didn’t sleep with him last night. Since his back injury 4 years ago his willy hasn’t worked right. Too bad for you because before that it was THE BEST SEX EVER! However, now he’ll most likely disappoint you with his half hard member that only works with a little blue pill. Please don’t let that fool you. The little blue pill means that he comes within 2 minutes… hardly enough time for you and 98{49382ccf8aa3307257579caf6f867159d328eca730a0976815a1bacefc5bc6ee} of the time he will just be too embarrassed to even try. Stock up on your batteries and/or multiple sex partners! By the way, No, it CANNOT be fixed. It’s nerve damage sweetie, deal with it!

5. You will NOT return him to me. I will NOT have him. He messed up when he touched you! I was a good wife to him and he had a good thing going on here. Don’t be surprised if you don’t live up to me because you won’t and he will make you miserable for it!

6. He will blame you for ALL of this. He told me, with tears in his eyes, that you giggled to him “I hope your wife sees that”. I don’t know if you said it or not. I don’t really care. However, just in case you did, your wish came true. I did see it, and he’s pissed. He’s so mad that you made that comment that when I punched him in the eye he apologized to me! Yes, I know violence is wrong and to be honest I’ve never hit anyone before. However, I am not sorry that I did and if I could have that moment back I would have simply aimed lower!

7. This one isn’t really a rule, more like a friendly warning. I will make sure to take up as much of his time with the most petty crap I can find to spite you. I will make it my hobby to hurt him and you the same amount my kids are hurting right now. Please be aware that he will take it, he will eat my crap for years with a smile. I was with him for 12 years, I know him better. Yes, I do feel completely justified in my actions. Just in case you were wondering.

So Thank you, Jennifer the dumb drunk ***** from the tweakers house who left bite marks on my husband chest last night, for showing me that 11 years and 2 children were no match for you! I applaud you on a man well won.

HE’S ALL YOURS!

Mom Almost Lost One Of Her Twins. But What She Did Next Changed Her Life Forever.

How do you save a child’s life? In this story, this mother knew what no one else did and saved her child’s life in a way that would connect the entire family like no other forever.

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Husband Makes Snarky Remark Implying Wife Contributes Nothing

My husband came home today and saw me sitting on the couch, toddler on one knee, and baby nursing on the opposite breast. I was trying to turn the pages of a book with the hand not attached to the infant, while listening to the sound of the stove buzzer, which would indicate that tonight’s pork chops were at the stage between “well done” and “the dog gets tonight’s” entree.

My husband looked at me innocently and asked “So, did you do  anything today?” It’s a good thing that most of my appendages were  otherwise engaged, as I was unable to jump up and throttle him  to death. This was probably for the best, as I assume that asking  a stupid question is not grounds for murder in this country.

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Let me back up a bit and explain what led me to this point in my  life. I was not always bordering on the brink of insanity. On the  contrary, a mere four years ago, I had a good job, steady income, and a vehicle that could not seat a professional sports team and me  comfortably.  I watched television shows that were not hosted by singing puppets. I went to bed later than nine o’clock at night. I laughed at those people who drove halfway across the country hauling a tent trailer, three screaming kids, and a drooling dog and called it a holiday. Now I have become one of them!

What happened? The stick turned blue. I have traded in my  Victoria’s Secrets lingerie for cotton briefs and a firm support nursing  bra. Good Bye Garth Brooks, Hello Barney and Big Bird. My idea of  privacy is getting to use the bathroom without a 2 year-old banging on the door and the baby spinning the toilet paper roll from my lap. And I finally understand that the term “Stay at home Mom” does not refer to a parent who no longer works outside the house, but rather to one who never seems to get out of the front door.

So, here I sit, children in hand, wondering, how to answer my beloved husband.

DID I DO ANYTHING TODAY?
Well, I think I did, although not much seems to have gotten accomplished. I shared breakfast in bed with a handsome young man. Of course the breakfast consisted of a bowl of porridge and leftover cookie crumbs found between the sheets. The handsome young man is about 34 inches tall and only gets excited at the sight of purple dinosaurs, toy trucks and French fries. I got to take a relaxing stroll in the woods. Of course I had to look for frogs and lizards, and had to stop and smell the dandelions along the way. I successfully washed one load of laundry, moved the load that was in the washer into the dryer, and the dryer load into the basket. The load that was in the basket is now spread out on the bed, awaiting my bedtime decision to actually put the clothes away or merely move them to the top of the dresser.

I read two or three classics. Of course, Dickens and Shakespeare  cannot take credit for these works, as we have moved on to the works of Seuss and Munsch. I don’t think I will be making any trips to the adult section of my local library anytime soon. In between I dusted wiped organized and rearranged. I kissed away the owies and washed away the tears. I scolded, praised, hugged, and tested my patience, all before noon.

Did I do anything today? You betcha!

I will now understand what people mean when they say that parenting is the hardest job they will ever have. In my LBD (life before diapers) I was able to teach young minds how to divide fractions, write complex sentences, but I am unable to teach a strong willed 2 year-old how to use the toilet. I was once able to navigate urban streets while talking on the car phone and looking for a decent radio station, but now I can’t get the wheels on my stroller to all go in the same direction. I’ve graduated from a university, written newspaper articles, and won awards, but can’t figure out how to get carrot stains out of the carpet. I used to debate with my friends about politics, but now we discuss the merits of cloth versus disposable. And when did I stop talking in sentences that had more than 5 words?

So in response to my husbands inquiry, yes I did do something today. In fact, I am one step closer to one of life’s greatest accomplishments. No, I did not find a cure for cancer or forge world peace, but I did hold a miracle in my arms. Two in fact.

My children are my greatest accomplishment and the opportunity to raise them is my greatest challenge. I don’t know if my children will grow up to be great leaders or world class brain surgeons. Frankly, I don’t care, as long as they grow up to be good people.

They are my greatest joys, even though I sometimes cry myself to sleep at night in frustration. The point is that today I got to watch my children take another step on the great journey of life, and I even got to point out some of the sites along the way.

As challenging as parenthood is, it is also equally rewarding because we are using all our wisdom, our talent and skills to help forge a new person. It is this person, these people, who in turn will use their gifts to create our future.

So every nursery rhyme I recite, every swing I push every little hand I hold is something. And I did it today!

Please pass this along to any Moms who you think need to hear how valuable our work REALLY is.