Confessions of an Unintentional Domestic Goddess

Just another weblog


Did you catch that? My title? I’m pretty sure you got the first part of it. Would you like me to share the rest? I’d love to. But first, you have to hear the story, well, stories, behind the title.

So, sit back, grab your popcorn, and get ready to spray beer/soda/coffee through your nose. Well, maybe not that funny, but pretty damn comical. You’ll see. A little background. I work at a local private high school answering phones, taking attendance. Fun stuff.

All of these things happened on Fridays. The names have been omitted to protect the innocent, or terminally dense people involved.

I answer the phone ‘Good morning. Can I help you?’
“Wure playing football thayre tomorra mornin. Y’all got a football field?’
Stunned, picking jaw up from the floor. ‘Yes sir, we do. It’s on the north side of the campus on 36th.”
‘Oh. Ah didn’t know y’all had a field. Y’all got bleachers and everthang?’
‘Uh, yes sir. We have bleachers. We even have a snack bar.’
‘Oh, alrahty the-in. Thanky.’
We didn’t always have a field. We used to play on other local high school fields. But that was in the late 80’s. And by the way, why would we rent out a field we didn’t even have? SMH

Same Friday. Only a bit later in the day.
It’s game day. We’re facing our biggest rival at home, our first home game of the season. Everyone is jazzed about it. It’s huge in our season. We have a pep rally. Remember those? Yep, they still happen. I mean, come on, it’s high school. It’s a requirement! My building is outside the fence of our school (long story) there are gates for pedestrians as well as vehicle traffic. The gates are closed during the day, but the pedestrian gates close, they don’t lock b/c students have to pass thru them to get to my building.

It’s time for pep rally. The cheer squad, pep squad, band and everyone who needs to be there early has already left the building. Save one. She’s beautiful. Very statuesque and just stunning. She’s stayed behind to change into her cheer uniform. She’s the last one and she’s marching with purpose to get to the gym before the flood of kids come out of their rooms. She walks out of the building, only to come right back with a bewildered look on her face.

“Did you forget something?’
looking at me wild-eyed and very concerned.
“The gates are closed!”
“Of course they are, they’re always closed during the day.”
“But how am I going to get through??”
Stopped me in my tracks. She was dead freaking serious.
“Do you see the cross walk? If you follow it, there is a gate that you can pass through.”
“Oh, ok. Thank you!” She says to me as if I’ve just given her the answers to her chemistry final.
Seriously, the ant trail was not there, she was used to following the herd of kids coming through the gate. She’s a very sweet girl, and I’m positive she’ll never have difficulty passing through the gate again!

The following Friday, we had a driving incident involving pedestrians and burritos. There were no major injuries, but I know two young men who will be the safest drivers around. All of which occurred after I’d arrived at work early. EARLY on a Friday. Only to spill coffee on myself, not a little, a WHOLE MUG, getting out of my car. Helluva way to start a Friday. I’d gone home to change clothes and one of my coworkers had come to cover my desk til I could get back. When I returned, there were police cars, an ambulance and fire truck. Can you imagine, she said she’d never cover for me again!

Last Friday, as I was locking up the building. It was well after dismissal, teachers and students were all long gone. A car pulls up and a young man pops out, sees me locking up and runs over to me.
“Can I get in?”
“What do you need? Everyone is gone.”
“I just need to get this to Mr. A.”
“He’s gone.”
“Oh. Ok, I’ll just leave him a note.”
“He’s GONE.”
“He’s gone?” bewildered look, as if he’s just noticed me standing there speaking to him.
“Yes, he’s gone. You can email him if you need to.”
“Oh, well, it’s nothing pressing.”

So….Friday. Yeah. I love ya, but man, could you cut me a break this time around?

Oh, right, the title. Are you ready? Here goes.
Thank God It’s Friday Because I’m Out Of My Mind

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I Don’t Take Anyone’s Crap (literally)!!

I know, my last few posts haven’t had anything to do with being a domestic goddess, and I promise they are coming, but I just had to tell you all about something that happened over the winter.

It was cold outside, I mean really seriously, bone-chilling-wind-piercing-every-layer-you’re-wearing cold. We were all at home, I think it may have been a Sunday afternoon. It was sunny, but flat out frigid.

My son suddenly yells out, ‘Mom! A lady’s dog is pooping in our yard and she’s walking away!’

In our neighborhood, in our covenants (and maybe even the city as well) you’re supposed to clean up after your mutt uses someone else’s yard for a toilet. Well, that and it’s just common courtesy. I mean honestly, if my child made a mess at someone else’s house, at the very least, my kid would have to clean it up and if the mess was toxic spill level, I’d have to pay to have the carpets cleaned/sheet rock repaired/walls repainted, whatever, right?

So, me being the shy wallflower that I am, I went out there and looked to see if what my son said was true. Yup. There in my dead, dormant, yellow grass was a steaming pile of poop. blech. Well, isn’t that charming.  By the time I’d assessed the situation, she was already two houses past us.

I called out, ‘EXCUSE ME!’ and of course she didn’t hear me the first time, so I said it again, ‘EXCUSE ME!’

She reluctantly turned and gave me that deer in the head lights, ‘you talking to me?’ look.


she starts walking toward me, and says, ‘What?’ as if she hadn’t heard what I said. She knew full well what I was talking about.

‘YOUR DOG LEFT A MESS IN MY YARD!’ as I’m pointing to the offending mass.

once again with the ‘hearing problem’. “What?’ she’s continuing to walk toward me, I think she’s thinking she’s gonna have to own up to this one. It’s hard to pretend it wasn’t your dog when you’re the only nutcase out walking your mutt at 15F and it’s fresh and steaming.

She’s close enough this time I don’t have to shout. ‘Your dog left a mess in my yard.’

Now the lamest excuse EVER. ‘Oh. I”m so sorry. I was going to come back and clean it up. It always happens when I don’t have a bag with me.’

Right. Now, if you think I”m buying that one, I’ve got a piece of property to sell you! As if. She didn’t give a damn where her dog pooped and you’ll never be able to convince me she did. As if she ever carries bags!

‘I’ll be happy to get you a bag.’ I said as nicely as I could, all the while thinking I’d rather pick it up and chunk it at her. How great would that be? she’s walking away thinking she’s gotten away with it again, and suddenly, thump. she feels something hit the back of her head and turns to see me smiling with a piece of poop in my hand aiming for her again!

‘Oh, that would be nice, thank you.’ she’s secretly thinking, ‘yeah, I may clean it up now, but you’re marked you pain in the ass, we’ll be back and I’ll make sure poochie here eats an entire can of pumpkin before we come by here again so he can leave you a nice big pile!’

My son grabs a bag and brings it outside, while we all watched from the warmth of our house to make sure she picked it up.

My husband was laughing at me. Well, seriously, it’s just plain rude. This woman is one of my neighbors and she was going to do that to me? I don’t think so.

His comment on his Facebook page the next day, ‘My wife doesn’t take shit from anybody!’


Aaaaafternoon delight?

Ok, if you’ve been with me for any time at all, you know my brain sort of takes off on its own sometimes and I’m powerless to stop it! Almost like Alice and the Rabbit Hole. Or was it rabbit trail? Anyway, today I remembered a funny story that’s worth sharing.

NOTE: This is a true story. The names have been omitted to protect the innocent. (and it wasn’t me!)

We have friends who are married and have two children. The wife and I had been chatting on a Saturday afternoon about maybe getting together. Something came up, can’t remember if it was a call or someone at the door, but we agreed to get back in touch in about 30 minutes.

It was not 30 minutes later when I called her and that may have been the problem. You see, our friends have a son who tries to be very helpful. When I phoned, the daughter answered and said that mom and dad were having a ‘nap’. Huh, I thought. Ok. That’s different, but ok. She’s one of those unlucky people who gets incredibly bad migraines at any time, maybe she’s having one of those. They do tend to really strike out of the blue sometimes.

Then in the background I hear the brother saying something and other noises and then I hear the mom in the background saying something and the daughter comes back on the line and says ‘My mom will call you back.’  Ohhhhh kkkkkkkk.

Huh. I thought. That was odd. Oh well, whatever. No big deal. I know with kids around, there’s no telling what will happen!

Needless to say, when she called me back 20 or 30 minutes later, I found out there was way more to it than I could’ve imagined! She told me this because she thought I’d heard everything, but we all got a good laugh out of it.

It’s a Saturday afternoon. Mom’s home, Dad’s home. Someone is feeling a bit, um, amorous shall we say? So they told the kids they were going to have a ‘nap’ and did what any parent would do in that situation, they locked the bedroom door. And then I had to go and ruin everything! The son, thinking he’s being ever so helpful, got a screwdriver and jimmied the lock! The brother and sister go barging in and catch mom and dad in a somewhat compromising position!

The son is holding the phone up at arm’s length, ‘Mom, you’ve got a phone call.’

And the daughter says, ‘Mom! Dad! WHY ARE YOU NAKED??”

That is what I didn’t hear exactly! The things our  kids put us through! So when my friend called me and filled me in, we had a good laugh. I mean really, can you imagine, not only both of your children catch you in the midst of a moment of passion, but they’re holding the phone up to God knows who! I’m laughing about it right now.  And, I’m so glad it wasn’t me! Although, I did my share of that when I was growing up! I remember barging in on my mom and stepdad once. That image was seared onto my retinas for all times! EEEK!

So, in the end, i think my friends put a deadbolt on their bedroom door!


Poor Harry. I nearly wet my pants….

**WARNING: do not read this if you have a delicate constitution. It could very well offend your sensibilities if you don’t care for bathroom humor.

Do you remember that time in your life, when every word that could possibly have a double-meaning made you snicker? Beavis, anyone? I apparently have not outgrown that stage. What do you expect? I have a 10 yo son who’s favorite thing is bathroom humor and a husband who’s really a 10 yo in a 44 yo body! 

 *snicker* ‘you just said ‘but'”.* snicker snicker.

‘Yes, as in,’I wanted to have creamer in my coffee, but, we are all out.’

It’s not that bad, yet, but you see what I”m dealing with here. So, now that you know these things about my life (aren’t you so glad??), the rest of this story shouldn’t come as much of a surprise.

Poor Harry. There was a mayor of a city in Indiana, I think it was. He was the longest serving mayor ever in that city. He did amazing things for the citizens there. He must have, otherwise they would’ve booted him out, right? Well, they have received a grant to build a new federal building of some sort there and are debating whose name will go on the building. Poor Harry. They have decided not to honor this man who gave so much of his life to the people of this city. Why? Well, in a word, his name. Not Harry. His last name: Baals. I can’t remember if that is German, Polish, Swedish, but whatever it is the, ‘aa’ in a word is pronounced ‘ah’, like wall. So, here is Mr. Longest-serving-mayor-in-city-history, whose last name is pronounced ‘balls’. Poor Harry  Baals. What a travesty, truly, an injustice.

So, why the heck am I telling you about something that’s happening in a city I’ve never been to and why do I care? I told my son, my 10 yo son, about poor Harry. You see he noticed me shaking my head as I was reading this article, and asked why I was shaking my head. (that’s the other part of this age, he needs to know everything that I’m doing) So I shared the injustice with him. Do I have to tell you that he laughed too?

Tonite we were all at the kitchen table playing a game, when somehow, poor Harry came up again. We were all agreeing it was so unfair that he was getting the short end of the stick, really getting shafted (puns totally intended). When my boy pipes up and says, ‘Yeah, if his name was Harry Johnson, it wouldn’t have been a problem.’  Totally innocent and not knowing what he’d just said. My husband and I were literally doubled over, crying with laughter, trying to catch our breath. I was just happy I didn’t pee my pants! My boy didn’t know that slang term, so he and his sister, who’s 7, were both looking at my husband and I as if we’d just gone completely crackers, wide-eyed and asking ‘Who’s Harry Johnson?” over and over. It seemed like the more they asked, the more we laughed! My husband finally took our boy aside and let him in on the joke, with the explicit instructions that he did not share that with his buddies, and especially not his sister. I so do not want to get phone calls from the moms wanting to know why my boy knows what a ‘johnson’ is!

Once I was able to breathe again and I’d wiped the tears from my eyes, I thanked him for giving me a good laugh! I obviously needed it!

Out of the mouths of babes, huh?

Here’s hoping you have had a good laugh today!


Real, live brain cramp?

What I’m about to tell you is true, the names have been omitted to protect the innocent, I mean clueless.

My son is in 5th grade, his last year at elementary school. At the end of the year, they have ‘5th grade recognition’. It’s a program, slide-show,  the kids get t-shirts, all kinds of really fun stuff to commemorate their time at the school. I thought I’d signed up to assist with this program, but had not heard anything about it until a notice came home from school earlier this week. On the notice was the email of the person whom I  believe is charing the committee.

Being the dutiful volunteer-type mom, I sent her an EMAIL asking her to put my name on the list of people working on this project. In her EMAIL response, she asks for my EMAIL address. This is exactly what she said, ‘No prob. could you send me your email.’ I am totally, dead serious people. In her EMAIL she asks for my EMAIL. Um, just so we’re clear, the last time I checked, the return EMAIL address can be found at the top of the EMAIL, right? I have no idea how this program is going to turn out if this person is in charge and doesn’t even realize what she’s writing. It probably wouldn’t have made me laugh so hard if she’d said something along the lines of  ‘Oh, sure. I tried to email you at a different address, but it came back, should I put this address on my group list?’ You know, kind of like asking someone which phone number is best to contact them.

Semantics people. Just like mom told you. It’s not what you say, but how you say it! A poorly worded sentence can make you sound like a complete dolt, even though you may be a PhD from MIT.

Now you’ve had your good laugh, go enjoy your Friday!