what housewives blog about

I'm amazed at how categorized blogger is. I get bored and insanely curious what other people blog about because I'm sure there has to be something other than complaining so I scroll through a few random blogs and I get 10 blogs in a row written by housewives with two kids who are 'living frugally' and collecting their own eggs from some back woods farm in Ohio, Texas, Oregon, Idaho, Kansas and all those other places with chickens and eggs.

It seems besides blogging, these mommies are devout stamp/greeting card/scrapbooking experts and who's latest pictures of fringed and embossed samples come second only to the latest  video of their child's struggle to master the English language and the first day of school.

I've learned so much about the different state fairs, carnival rides, back to school shopping sales, eggs.

And not just chicken eggs. There are so many apps out there for the measuring of your egg (ladies)  during its journey into fetus-hood and the exact age to the second your child is. Gross.

Between noon and 3 here I get Malaysian blogs, and Christian missionaries and such things.


But just as my family and two other people who read this blog and want to know what happens in my day and how my eggs are doing and my current belly measurements, who am I to judge.

I guess way to go computer literate housewives who squeeze in time to sew and knit and emboss things and then sell them online.

My mom should do that. She could totally write about these things:

Here are just a few of the weird blogs i wonder why people bother writing inspirations I stumbled on:

http://angrypregnantlawyer.blogspot.com

http://thecollinscrew.blogspot.com

http://papasian.blogspot.com


http://lumpyhead.blogspot.com


http://radarlove08.blogspot.com

http://pooleyaticus.blogspot.com

Why mom shouldn’t do things…

Dad says things that still surprise me but mom does things that surprise me. 
Mom likes birds. She had a bird for awhile and carried it everywhere. It ate her hair and crapped on everyone’s shoes and laid eggs in the most unreachable places that we would discover weeks later. It was supposed to learn how to ‘talk’ but only learned one whistle. 
One whistle that it used only while we were watching TV. Or trying to talk on the phone, or anything that didn’t require birds whistling.
It probably never liked me because I would chase it around the house with whatever was handy; a broom, vacuum, my shoe covered in bird crap.

So mom shouldn’t be allowed to have birds in the house. Fair enough. 
So now she has bird feeders outside the door. Right outside the door. Like you can’t exit the patio door without hitting your face in birdseed. Occasionally the birds will fly into the door and create a pleasing thump but that’s where my joy from them ends. Until a hording predatory evil comes crawling up.

When mom sees squirrels get out of hand she knows how to deal. My mom takes my little Red Ryder BB gun that I got for Christmas with instructions not to shoot my eye out, and she shoots squirrels that don’t obey the law of the land. 
I don’t think she should be allowed to shoot squirrels but since its only a bb gun and its like ten years old and I used to shoot siblings with it it can’t be all that bad. 
I have it on good authority that she shouldn’t be allowed to have email either. She probably wouldn’t help out the prince of Nigeria but she would update her password and confirm account numbers and email it off to the ‘bank’ to which she doesn’t even have an account with.

this is for you mom! Not quite what dad had in mind but i'm working on it! There's a bowie knife in there!

toys and torture of my youth pt 2-i like this one

I'm inspired to find more toys from childhood that are probably still in the basement.



  Like this gem, the Strawberry Shortcake Berry Happy house. Only the house that we had came from garage sale and didn't have all the pieces. I do remember popping off the window frames and the door. And for some strange reason the mailbox was full of what smelled and looked (maybe tasted but I admit nothing) like cherry chapstick.
Which was neither my nor my sister's doing. We never know how it got there. But it was there.

 




We totally had these kitchen pieces too. I really can't remember what we used to put inside the little oven and cupboard. But I'm sure it was something that was most definitely not supposed to be in there.




And that tangentially brings me to another childhood memory that involves strawberry jam, a dirt devil, a tiny yellow plastic chair, a jump rope made of real rope, and one little brother with a fear of vacuums.


It went a little something like this...

I wonder if he still remember this? I wonder if my memory is accurate? Was he really wearing little blue feetie pj's? Probably. I do remember the next part though. Which involves strawberry jam, a dirt devil, a little brother afraid of vacuums screaming bloody murder in the name of all that is holy mom come save me, my hair, and an unselfish act of redemption. Observe:

That would be the pink 24pt voice of mom calling down the stairs hoping the noise stops before she would have to descend down and dole out justice.