mad as a wet hen

You know, I don't think anyone in my husband's family, including him, has a sense of humor. On his mother's side anyway. Yesterday I posted a funny article on Facebook about what moms really want for Christmas. I thought it was funny anyway.

10 Gifts Moms REALLY Want for the Holidays

So this morning I see my mother in law has posted a comment to the effect of how she wouldn't want any of those gifts, how she misses the things referred to in the article, and why would you want to be a wife or mother if you agree with the article. Then shortly after that my husband calls up and says he saw the article I posted and is that how I really feel, blah blah. And I'm like OH MY GOD it's supposed to FUNNY, HA HA, AS IN A JOKE??? As in if I actually was serious about those things I wouldn't be able to laugh at them at all....

Sigh. Once again I feel that I have to censor myself. But I don't have time, I have a houseful of kids and one of them is hell bent on fighting with the rest, so I have to go be the bad guy and take away someone's playdate that was set for this afternoon...

Crossing the road

you know, for as much as I bitch about my husband, I actually do love the guy. He may get up and gripe about how he can't find any matching socks, or the only underwear left are the ones he doesn't like because they don't hold his gear in properly, or how much he hates it when I organize his pile of dirty scraps of paper that he calls work sheets and put them into a drawer so they don't get lost, or how the coffee maker is too slow for him, but aside from things like that, he's a sweet guy. All it takes on my part is a little show of affection, like a phone call after he leaves saying "I love you!" and he's happy again. As much as I would like to think that this means I am the queen of mental manipulation, I know in my heart that it's really because he adores me. As much as I drive him totally batshit crazy, he adores me. The reason for this rumination is that yesterday I was hit twice by the divorce bug - first in my kindergarten class where the teacher pulled me aside and explained that the recent erratic behavior we had seen being displayed by a usually sweet and quiet little boy was likely due to the fact that his parents were getting a divorce. The second time was after school when another mom confided in me that her husband had left them for the weekend, that the kids were devastated, that she was a nervous wreck and she was having all kinds of problems dealing with school issues and money issues. I guess it was one of those days that made me pause and say to myself, "jeez, he may be an ass sometimes, but I really do want him around". I know I know, I'm such a romantic soul. But it's not just that I want him around, it's that I know he wants me around. He may want me around in a little french maid outfit begging him for sex constantly, but regardless of how he wants me, he wants me. And it's nice to be wanted. So I will throw him a bone just to remind him that I do want him too - maybe not the maid thing, but something along those lines. Because I realized yesterday that I really do like my coop with a rooster around, specifically my rooster that is. The grass is not always greener on the other side of the road that the chicken had to cross, or however that saying goes. Or maybe it is, but I'm the one on the other side.

Movember

Okay, I know that it's for a worthy cause - prevention etc of prostate cancer, and I'm not trying to knock that or disrespect it in any way. This is purely personal. I can't WAIT for the month of November to be over. If I have to look at the disgusting fuzzy caterpillar on my husbands upper lip for one more day I may completely snap. I can't take anything he says remotely seriously when he looks like a 50 year old ex porn star from 1982. (and he's only 37) It has to be without a doubt the most unflattering facial accessory a man could possibly have. There is and so far will only ever be one man and one man only who could make a mustache sexy, and that man is Tom Selleck. Am I right? Mr. Magnum P.I. himself? You know it's true. So here's what I propose. If men want themselves and their cause to be taken seriously and with some dignity, they need to come up with another temporary personal grooming habit to alter. Obviously not everyone looks great with a shaved head, such as many people opt for in support of someone going through several other types of cancer treatment. But it's not exactly funny - not funny in the way that a really bad stache is at least. Perhaps they could shave their eyebrows for a month - eyebrowless April? or what about Mohawk March? How about bare down there december? Anything but Movember, please. No more.

choke a chicken

Is it wrong that as a married lady I no longer feel the compunction to offer my husband blow jobs? I mean, it's not as though I refuse to have sex, I just don't have a need to impress anyone any more. Those days ended years ago for us. I am quite willing to vary positions and such, indulge in some minor role play and use of toys, so really I think as wives go I am pretty with it still. But bj's just aren't on my radar. Maybe if they weren't such hard work, or my mouth was bigger. Plus there's that whole thing where he grabs your head...maybe it was exciting once upon a time, but now the sensation that I am going to choke and/or barf just isn't sexy. I wish he would just get over it. We're at that you get one once a year on your birthday ha ha stage. And really, is that so bad? He should think of it like Christmas, it only comes once a year too. And you don't spend the rest of the year whining saying I wish it was Christmas today, do you? Again though, he would probably counter that with the argument that yes, it WOULD be nice to have Christmas more often. And for him I suppose it would be. After all, it is a very similar scenario to the BJ one. When we have Christmas, I do all the work, and he gets to sit back, open presents and say "oooh! Ahhhh!" And then fall asleep after he's had his fill of turkey and martinis.  Sounds a lot like a big BJ to me. Although admittedly I do get quite a bit more out of Christmas - so to speak, ha! Sorry honey, but it's true. Oh well, I suppose I can suck it up and continue with the birthday BJ tradition, at least it's only once a year. Is there a statute of limitations on this thing by the way? Like, does this go on indefinitely? Knowing my husband I have no doubt of it, he will still be trying to get me on my knees when I have to stop and take my teeth out first - which I'm sure will just make it all the better for him! Who knows? Maybe that would work better for me too....

chicken soup

Home again from our trip to the Sunshine Coast. A highly eventful long weekend. I am exhausted. Lucky me, I came down with some horrible sore throat and ear ache thing Thursday, the day we left. But since I am Mom, I sucked it up, took drugs, and carried on as usual. Oh, and I drank quite a lot. Alcohol I mean. Completely medicinal of course. I really get why people bring nannies on holidays with them. My kids aren't even that little, but still young enough that I found myself constantly keeping them organized, finding socks, prepping food, cleaning up. I discovered after arriving at our cottage that 2 of them were missing toques and gloves, although both had assured me they were packed several times before we left. Realized one of them had not packed any long pants - this was while waiting for the ferry and she complained she was cold, and I did a double take and yes, there she was in capri leggings that came just to her knees. I was totally confounded, as I was so sure she had cozy pants on, and then finally figured out that she had CHANGED her clothes just before we left, without my knowledge and of course I didn't see her standing up out of the car until we arrived at the ferry terminal. It's only November, on the open ocean. Might get chilly. Ah well. We arrived in time for a nice evening and a fire on the beach in front of our cottage. And a hot tub, ahhhh. The next day we drove an hour up the coast, then hiked an hour in thru old growth rainforest to the Skookumchuk Narrows, something my hubby really wanted to see. It was pretty cool, a sea lion playing below us in the water, but the dog was going crazy for some reason. Moments later we found out why, when a terrible storm struck. Hail, thunder, lightning, trees falling across our path, the hour hike out pretty much sucked. My kids actually thought they were going to die for about an hour. They may never go back in the woods again. But the cottage awaited and after a subdued hour in the car trying to get warm again we make it back and again, the hot tub was waiting. The following day we ventured out briefly for a walk on a nearby beach, about as far as we could convince the kids to go after their adventure the previous day. We got rained on pretty hard once again, so declared the rest of the day a - yes, you guessed it - a hot tub day. By this time I was a believer - hot tubs make everything better. Me and my chicks enjoying the hot steamy water, soaking our cares away. Leaning back, listening to the wind high above in the trees, the waves on the beach. And then it was over. Almost. We all got up early the next morning and had one more hot tub for the road, then went through the ordeal of packing and cleaning and heading out. Spent the day working our way back down the coast, stopping in at an excellent craft fair, and late lunching at Molly's Reach in Gibsons, very nostalgic of my childhood with all the Beachcombers memorabilia. Managed to get on the 4:30 ferry home. We were all DONE by the time we pulled into our driveway. Unloaded the car, put a few things away, got into our jammies, made a snack for dinner, and then we were all at loose ends. Kate was starting to lose it, as was I, and in that moment I knew, if we just had a hot tub, everything would be okay. There's nothing a good hot tub won't cure. And if you have a cold like me, then chicken soup AND a hot tub.

ruffled feathers

We are going away for the long weekend in a few days, and I know I need to sit down and organize everything for the trip. I know this because as mother hen, if I don't do it, Thursday will arrive and everyone will look at me and wonder where all the stuff is that should be packed into the van. Okay, the girls will pack their own bags, which is a huge step in the right direction, but I will still have to assess the laundry situation, find all the appropriate types of clothing they will need, wash it if necessary, supply them with a check list of things to bring, and then try to remember to do a final bag check to make sure they are actually ready to go. The same goes for Mike. I suspect that as usual he will expect me to pack not only my bag but his too, especially as his back is out this week. So I have our laundry to assess, do, pack etc. Then there's the grocery list and the subsequent shopping that needs to be done - we are staying in a self sufficient cottage on the beach up the Sunshine Coast. Plus we are taking the dog which means I need to some serious grooming on him before we leave, so he doesn't shed 500 tons of hair in the car all over me on the drive up the coast - we are staying in a dog friendly cottage, but I have a feeling the owners may not feel so friendly if I climb out of the car wearing a golden fur coat. I would gladly take him to the doggy groomers and let them handle the job, except that he has been kicked out of their shop as my dog is claustrophobic and cannot handle any time in a kennel and therefore requires an "express" grooming which essentially does sweet dick all for his coat. So in a nutshell I have to do laundry, shop for supplies, pack said laundry and supplies, groom the dog and pack his gear too, clean out the car so our stuff can fit, make a ferry reservation and generally make sure that all 6 of us are ready to hit the road after school Thursday. It's Tuesday at the moment. In addition of course to the regular daily things I have to do like work, taxi kids to basketball/soccer, cook, etc. So when my hubby says to me this morning "have you called the cable company about getting multi room dvr set up yet?" and I said, no, I haven't got around to it, and he said "yeah, I guess you have so many other more interesting and important things to do..." my feathers got a little ruffled.
Whatever. It wouldn't be the first trip I refuse to pack for him and he ends up wearing the outfit he arrives in all weekend. And this time I could - if I so choose - blame the fact that I didn't get around to packing his bag for him on the time I spent on the phone with the cable company setting up our new multi room dvr package.....which I did this morning....
And don't get me wrong, while I do tend towards being a controlling kind of gal, there was one trip we took when I failed todo  a final check on what had been loaded into the car, and instead decided to let it go, and trust in my husband that he remembered to pack all the items on the list, and when we arrived we discovered he had forgotten to pack all our food...for 4 days...on the up side at least he remembered the booze....priorities!

half cocked

Maybe it was because his back hurt and he took all those tylenol, naproxen, muscle relaxants and then drank a martini and a glass of wine, but my hubby was an ass last night. I thought we were going to have his brother from out of town and his parents over for dinner and order sushi, but after I got back from a fantastic soul soothing walk in the Bog with my dog I could tell immediately that something was up. Probably it was the alcohol on his breath that sent up the first warning flag, or it could have been the somewhat glazed yet manic look in his eyes. Or maybe it was the way he met me at the door bellowing excitedly about how he had looked up some chiropractic app on his phone while I was out and had started pounding on his back in attempt to fix it - of course this was after imbibing the concoction I described earlier - and was sure he had found the right place and miraculously fixed his back problem. Or maybe it the staggering amount of sushi I found waiting for me at the restaurant when I arrived shortly after that to pick it up, about three times the amount we usually order, at three times the cost. Or maybe it was discovering that no one else was joining us for dinner after all, because he had told them we had made other plans after they all failed to answer their phones when he tried to call them earlier in the day. Even though he still went ahead and ordered all that food. And refused to call his brother and say goodbye before he left for his home in California. It could have been the way he flipped out and went off on a rant about how he expects that if he calls ME that I would immediately disconnect any call I might already be on as he is the MOST important person in our house and his calls warrant top priority, but how he knows that I purposely ignore his calls when they come in because I just want to piss him off...

Yes, something was definitely up. However, while the above mentioned drug/alcohol combo had caused my partner to behave in such an erratic and totally annoying manner, it fortunately was not destined to last for long. He peaked just after 6pm, stuffed full of sushi, and catching his breath between rants he lay down on the couch and presto! it was snoresville for the next 3 hours. I proceeded to enjoy a mini Will Ferrell film fest and watched the rest of Old School and Ron Burgundy, played some ZombieVille on my phone, and texted a friend for a bit, then went upstairs to bed. Naturally hubby woke up at that moment, grumbled that I was going to leave him on the couch all night, and then came to bed too. Where I rolled over and went to sleep, ignoring his complaints that I don't spend any time with him....really, Mr. I just spent three hours sleeping through the entire evening? Nice try.

Isn't marriage great?

Chicken feed

I have always heard about the notorious soccer and hockey parents from hell. But this is my first actual experience with them. My oldest daughters soccer season is underway, and it has been one conflict after another. While I don't think their coach is the greatest, at least he is willing to give the time and is trying. He is just totally inexperienced, and somewhat defensive about help being offered. Anyway, holy moly, every week it is screaming parents and screaming coach at the games, and I have found myself avoiding the parents on the sidelines altogether, or even avoiding the games. Last week we didn't even take our daughter as she wasn't feeling well, and I still couldn't escape the drama - my phone rang right after with a call from one of the mom's who is having probably the most conflict with the coach, wanting to fill me in on the latest blowout between her, her husband and the coach. Really? Is this necessary? We are talking about 9 year old girls soccer. I think it's totally ridiculous. While I am not exactly known for sitting on the sidelines quietly during my children's sporting events (okay, I cheer my lungs out) I cannot imagine how embarrassed my child would be if I was the one getting into a shouting match every game with the coach. And what's worse is that these parents continue to try to drag me into the melee with them. Last week I put my foot down when I got that call and calmly but very firmly stated that I felt it was time for the drama to end, and that this other mother and her husband needed to resolve the conflict they were having. Personally  it's not my business how they decide to behave in front of their child, their parenting choices are their own, but leave me the f**k out of it please. Today one of the other mom's got me alone after the game and expressed her disappointment in certain people's behavior at the games, and wondered aloud why human nature seems to dictate that we jump on the latest bandwagon and pick on the weaker person of the moment. And it's true, that's what we do. We do have that need to pick things and people apart, and the group mentality is very powerful. It's exactly what I am doing on this blog, venting my frustrations, and encouraging a forum for women like myself to let off steam. With one difference, I hope. It's a private setting, not intended for people like my hubby for example to participate in. It's passive I guess you'd say. I get to say what I want here without fear of my children hearing me, or my hubby if it's him I'm feeling pissed at. That way in real life I put on my game face and behave like a somewhat civilized person most of the time. Is that so wrong?
Anyway, it was food for thought, and very interesting to hear from a couple of women from the team that I don't usually talk with, but who today for whatever reason both opened up to me and shared some private thoughts regarding the team etc.

Free range

Yesterday was this beautiful picture perfect fall day, not to be wasted. So I went for a bike ride in Burns Bog, a massive nature preserve located a block from my house full of walking/riding trails. I figured the ride would fulfill my exercise requirement for the day, and also my need to spend some time in the great outdoors. And it did, it was a great ride. Later on I posted a quick blurb on my facebook page commenting on the amazing bike ride I had taken, and then moved on to making dinner, getting kids organized for soccer practice etc. Then my hubby arrives home after practice with the kids and says, so I heard you went for a bike ride today. I know he doesn't look at his facebook page ever, but his friends do, so I one of them has relayed my comment to him. I say yes I did, it was great, I guess so and so told you? And then he went off on a rant about how he's the last one to hear about my day, blah blah blah. THIS is why I started this blog in the first place. So I don't have certain people hanging over my shoulder, reading my ramblings and then relaying the info back to my hubby, who has a bizarre fear that I am going to post something terrible and earth shattering on a blog, or facebook for all the world to see, BEFORE he does. Now I know I have made a few bitchy comments on this blog already, but that's what it's for. That's why it's called The Hen House. It's a place for me to vent my womanly rage/frustrations/whatever without fear of having to explain myself to my other half, who doesn't get it. Which is crap, because there's the whole man cave trend right now, suggesting that it's perfectly okay for men to gather in an men only inclusive environment where they are free to drink beer, look at the nudie calendars on the wall, watch porn, watch football, play video games, etc. I don't think I'm too far off the mark on my assumption of what happens in a man cave, or why men want one. Well, I think women need their own version too, which I have dubbed The Hen House. A place just for the girls, where we can drink our wine and bitch about our men and our children, etc. This is what we do. This is what we need to do, so we don't take it all out on them.

Anyway, my hubby then managed to seque his argument regarding me posting my life on facebook to how unsafe it is for me to go bike riding alone in the bog. (I am pretty sure he switched gears because of me saying oh sorry Mr. Man, I guess I'll call you first before I tell anyone else about anything that I do in my day, I'll just keep calling in with updates on what I'm doing, where I am, will that make you happy?) So now he is giving me shit for riding alone. When I asked why he felt it was unsafe, he said because someone could jump out of the bush and knock me off my bike....which I suppose technically could happen, but really? I already have him and certain other people telling me I can't go walking alone in the bog, even with my 100 pound dog at my side. Now I can't ride my bike? What am supposed to do, wait around for him to come with me - hell will freeze over before that happens. No. If some psycho reads this and decides to wait for me to pedal by in the bog, well, so be it. I am so tired of being told what I can and cannot do, according to his rules, or anybody else's. For god's sake, what does he think I did before I met him, never leave my house? Because somebody bad might get me? I will not be penned in. Nor will I be made to be afraid. I am not foolish, I do not put myself into potentially dangerous situations. But I will not be a happy mother hen if I am not allowed to range free now and then.

So there.

Cockadoodledoo

What the hell is the deal with men and sex?? I am constantly amazed at how completely ruled they are by their penises. Seriously. I have been with my current husband for 11 years and regardless of how tired, sick, hungover or whatever he is he still constantly wants sex. With total disregard for how tired, sick or hungover I might be. Please don't get me wrong, I enjoy sex, have always enjoyed sex, I mean REALLY enjoyed it, no big O issues here if you get my drift, but seriously. He would have sex with me like, 20 times a day or more if I was up for it. Which I'm not. Here's the part that really gets me though. When I do occasionally say "not now" he throws a hissy fit, and makes a fucking federal case out of it that lasts for the rest of the day/evening or whatever. Like suddenly he's some guy whose woman never has sex with him, like he's totally deprived, like I'm NEVER going to have sex with him again, or I must be having sex with someone else since I'm "suddenly" not interested in having sex with him. It's like they turn into whiny little 2 year olds at that point. I swear he can't even think straight after a sex refusal. Get some perspective buddy! And what am I supposed to do? Endure this for the remainder of our life together? I think not. I reserve the right to say no sometimes. Especially when the kids are in the same room, the dog is trying to climb on the bed, the cat is yowling to come in, and his parents are expected for a visit any minute.

I don't know why I bother complaining, because it's never going to change! He says I should be grateful that he's still sexually attracted to me. Really? He should be grateful I don't decide to do some extreme keigel exercises and accidentally squeeze his cock off...oh my, did I really just say that? Nope. I typed it. And while I don't actually see myself responding quite so extremely to his advances, well, in real life, that doesn't mean I, and come on, 'fess up, tons of other women out there don't occasionally wish for their man to have a sprained cock at the very least. Something he needs at least a few days of rest to recover from? On the other hand, if such a catastrophe actually did occur - the sprained cock I mean - we would end up spending all our waking moments taking care of him and his frigging injury, so really, we probably wouldn't be any further ahead than if we had just gone ahead and sex with him in the first place, and instead of wasting our energy and our day on a refusal, just done an Oscar worthy acting job to placate him.

And let's be honest. Even if he DID have a sprained cock, he would STILL try to have sex with me. I can hear it now..."see what a manly man I am - I had sex even with a sprained cock!"  Yeah, yeah, way to go Superman, where the hell is my wine?

Hump Day

Do chickens hump? I know the term hump day is supposed to refer to the hump of the week as in the middle of the week, the top of the hill, it's all downhill coasting from here to the weekend, blah blah, but still. Can you ever hear the term hump day without at least thinking fleetingly of sex? I can't, and I don't think I'm a total sex fiend perv. My husband would definitely agree with that, he wishes I WAS more of a sex fiend perv for sure. Anyway, back to chickens. Do they hump? If I am ever going to fulfill my dream of tending to backyard chickens, I suppose I had better figure out the answer to that question or prepare to be scandalized when I see a rooter mount a fluffy little bantam hen...okay, maybe I am getting a bit pervy here. Definitely too early for that.

So I think something is wrong with my scale, because according to it, I am 4 pounds lighter than I was yesterday morning. Which naturally makes me feel like super diet woman, I mean I'm one day in to the Game On diet with a group of ladies, and I've already lost over 2 weeks worth of my weight loss goal? If this is true, I could quietly coast now for the next couple weeks at least, and then kick it back into gear for the second half of our month long competition. Then I have to wonder how much does my morning pee really weigh? Yesterday I weighed myself first, just to start the competition off with my weight being as high as possible, to give myself an edge, and today I weighed myself after, and lo and behold I was 4 pounds lighter. That is one hell of a pee I have to say. I feel that for the sake of scientific experimentation I should do everything else today exactly the same as yesterday, just to see if it really worked and I lost the weight for real, or if my scale is as temperamental as I am. Maybe it's an evil scale, and is playing wicked tricks on me. A possessed scale, if you will. Like Christine the car, only it's a bathroom scale. Okay, or maybe it's just broken, or more likely, just a cheap ass scale that isn't calibrated properly and hence doesn't produce reliably accurate results. I think I prefer the evil possessed scale theory better, can't you just hear it - "I WOULD have made my weight loss goal if it wasn't for that DAMN EVIL SCALE playing games with me!"

Okay, back to reality. I still don't know if chickens hump, I probably don't have a supernatural ability to lose weight at will, and I have 5 girls running amok through my house right now instead of getting ready for school. Plus I am trying to convince myself that my coffee still tastes good with honey and agave nectar as sweetener instead of brown sugar, as per the diet rules. Don't they make tequila from the agave plant too? Maybe THAT'S what's going on this morning, the agave nectar is causing me to have a hallucinogenic trip similar to the one's that the legendary worm in the tequila bottle give you....or maybe not. Actually, that might not be such a bad thing, I could be on to something here, this could give morning coffee a whole new meaning for me. If I'm right, I will be putting that agave nectar shit in EVERYTHING, especially since I'm not supposed to be drinking alcohol every day whilst on this diet. Ha! I'd better reign myself in, or I'm going to become like the Hunter S. Thompson of the mini van set, high on caffeine and agave nectar instead of mescaline and alcohol.

This is going to be the best diet EVER.

Scrambled

Man alive, talk about your Halloween hangover! Last night was spooktacular - the whole family dressed up and trick or treated together. Just as we were set to leave we got a call that my hubby's uncle was en route to the hospital apparently having a heart attack. So I think we can both be forgiven for filling up our coffee go cups with wine at that moment. We took deep breaths and headed out, hoping for the best. Part way thru the evening we met up with my brother in law and his kids, and he passed on the terrible news that their uncle had not survived the ambulance ride. After finally getting back home again we got the kids de-costumed and de-makeuped (is that a word? probably not) and into bed, had another glass of wine together after scrubbing off all our make up, and went to bed. Well, I went to bed, my poor hubby fell asleep on the couch and he was not getting up again, so I gave up and went to bed by myself.

When I woke up this morning after not enough sleep and too much wine - okay, and cheese, I needed a post halloween snack that did not involve candy before bed - I had one decent moment before the events of last night came crashing back in, booo. So I hauled my butt out of bed, put the coffee on, and spent the rest of the morning trying to get the kids to wake up/get up/eat up/get dressed/get out the door to school. While they aren't in on the family tragedy yet, they still all had their own Halloween hangovers to cope with; too much sugar mixed with too much excitement, and a dash of fear. Oh, and not enough sleep. To add to my scrambled morning I had agreed to participate in a group diet/clean up your lifestyle type competition, starting today. So I had to find my damn reading glasses so I could read the damn scale before I did anything else - like pee. I wanted to be as full as possible for my starting weight, so as to give myself an edge on the weight loss thing. You can bet that in a week I'll peeing BEFORE I get on that scale.

Anyway, onwards and upwards, get my head together and carry on!

Up with the chickens

Why is it that at least 50% of my family feels the need to make sure I am awake too when they can't sleep? The night before last my husband tossed and turned for what seemed like hours, sighing, readjusting covers and pillows, and even going so far as to ask if I was awake, which I ignored. Then last night he was apparently thirsty and attempted to wake me to ask if he could have some of my water...which I ignored again and made some soft snoring noises. Then one of my daughters came upstairs and I had to help her get tucked in on the floor beside my bed where she has a foamie and some blankets for the many nights she can't sleep. Then SHE wanted a drink of my water. Sigh. So then at one point later on I sat up to plump up my pillow and lie down again and my husband suddenly said "EXCUSE ME but do you mind, I'm trying to sleep here?!"
I did not react outwardly, but in my head I was doing one of those "SHUUUTTTT UPPPPP" screams as loud as I could, as I smothered him to death with my pillow...
Sometimes my most exciting fantasy is the one where I live all alone, and I get to sleep all night, as long as I want, totally undisturbed.  A girl can dream.

Welcome to the hen house

Let me get something straight right now. This is not a blog about chickens. However, it was in part inspired by chickens, or rather my desire to build a chicken coop and raise backyard chickens, a plan that so far has been totally vetoed by my husband. He seems to feel that it would be too attractive to the wilder animals in our area, although I assured him we would build a sturdy shed-like structure that would be impenetrable.  As I was lamenting the situation to a friend, I joked and said I should just build the damn thing anyway, and if nothing else I could use it as hide out for me and my female friends to hang out in - a woman's version of a "man cave", if you will. And then we looked at each other and I burst out with "the hen house!" and an idea was hatched, ha ha.

Anyway, the more I thought about it, the more I realized that The Hen House was a perfect name for not only a physical place, but also for a new writing site. It would be the amalgamation of the previous two blogs I have worked on, Moody Girls and Hysterical Housewives, where I either talk about my three daughters, or babble about various random housewifely aspects fo my life. While I have enjoyed both blogs, I have felt the need to do something a little different, a little edgier, a little darker. And like the literal hen house I would like to someday have to adjourn to with the ladies, some wine and some wicked conversation,  I want a place to write uncensored, without my husband or anyone else who may not necessarily "approve" of what I'm saying hovering over my shoulder, reading my daily entries.

All else aside, the title of The Hen House is also very appropriate as I live in a house full of females. In addition to myself and my three daughters, I also take care of three other girls before and after school during the week. I tend to think of myself as a mother hen to many.

So here we go, and please pardon any chicken related puns etc that I throw out there. I know I won't be able to resist.