Skip to main content

Victoria Beckham Never Smiles and I Know Why

Sometimes, after a particularly long, hard day at work, I'll come home, walk into the house, and, upon entering, attempt to flee again. Because these people are so wanting of my attention.

The Bean will run up rambling about how even though her birthday is a couple months from now, she thought about it and what she wants to do is ask for money so she can summer out on the East Coast, like every other struggling middle class teenager. At the same time Dotter will be broadcasting the fact that we need to bring a salad to the banquet dinner tomorrow night, which leaves me wondering what we possibly do that requires attendance at a banquet dinner and a salad? Cletus will be screeching at the top of his lungs, "Mom-mEEE! Mom-mEEE! Moooo! Moooo! Twak-ta? Twak-ta?" while clawing at my legs and Big V will be creeping up from behind, wrapping his arms around me and pushing his man parts into my backside like I'm not going to notice and muttering something about how he did a job today and it involved tile. Just like every other job he does every other day that involves tile and I'm standing there seven seconds into my return home praying why can't they just let me put my purse down first? and please let there be a bottle of wine already chilling in the fridge.

Not that I don't love my family or the attention they shower on me but it's kind of a lot all at once, you know? I'm thinking maybe if they attacked me one at a time, with several seconds in between to catch my breath, I'd be able to handle it better.

That's why you won't catch me badmouthing Victoria Beckham for never smiling in photos. Because I understand. The poor woman has three kids - and another on the way, a husband, and all that paparazzi hounding her every second of the day. And I'm pretty sure that no matter how many times David offers to 'help get the kids ready' she's still stuck answering stupid questions like which shirt should I put him in? and where do we keep the hair gel?

I'm just waiting for the day she blows up and screams, "All of you - shut up! All I'm asking for is six bloody seconds of silence so I can collect my thoughts!"

It doesn't sound that bad in an accent. Really. It's kind of a cute breakdown when you read it Brit Style. That's why when I have my breakdown I'm totally going British all the way. Which I almost had to do last night when Big V offered to wash the dishes in order to help me out but instead spent two hours complaining about everything.

*

"Where's the soap?"

 Under the sink in the exact same spot it's been returned to for the past three years.

"Well, why to we keep it there? That's stupid. We should just keep it on the counter by the sink so we don't have to keep taking it in and out of the cupboard."

*

"What is this? Ketchup? Who didn't rinse their plate?"

That was your plate. From the corndog you had late last night.

"Well, I've seen other plates that aren't rinsed off. People need to start rinsing off their plates."

*

"Darnit! Where's that thing to wash the glasses?!"

You mean the baby bottle brush?

"I don't know what it's called... I use it to wash the glasses."

I threw it away last week because it was gross and falling apart.

"Well, I guess I can't wash these glasses then." [starts taking cups & glasses out of kitchen sink and tossing onto counter, dripping wet]

Hmmm, whatever did they do before the creation of the bottle brush? Surely they wouldn't have stuck the washrag into the glass itself to wash it.

*

And this was about where I lost it ... (in British Accent): Ah, yes, that was quite helpful to me indeed. What would I have done without all the bitching and moaning? Perhaps tomorrow night you bathe the baby, help Dotter with her math homework, cook dinner, drive the Bean to town because she forgot she needed poster board, put another load of laundry in the washing machine, comb the snarls out of Dotter's hair without smacking her when she starts screaming at the top of her lungs, make sure Cletus doesn't stick his tongue in the electrical outlet - again, run to the bank to get some cash to pay Lawnmower Timmy and I'll do the bloody dishes!

(Did you read it with an accent? If not, go back and read it again. I won't sound nearly as awful, I promise.)

All I'm saying is that if I had walked out the door and into the flashing lights of the paparazzi I wouldn't have been gleefully smiling either.

Comments

amberlee02_84 said…
My good friend Ann Leonard(your newest stalker) referred me to your blog. I just loved this one. I have four kids ages 3 and under and I can totally relate to being mobbed when you come home. I loved the line about the 'man parts' too. That made me laugh very hard. Good work and please keeep writing! :)

Mommy Jones
Getrealmommy said…
Okay. I have to disagree with you on this one. I agree that you have plenty of reason to look pissed off in a photograph, but Victoria Beckham? Please. Like that woman does laundry, washes dishes or combs her kids hair. I am sure nerly all of their clothing is taken by an assitant to a drycleaner, their personal chef tends to the dishes and the family stylist deals with the hair. She just has to show up in a slinky outfit and look good. The least she could do is smile.... :)
Mimi said…
Oh I hear you... And I only have two kids... And I don't "work" -- well, sort of. But still. Days like that I wish for a mini-break down - or appendicitis or anything for a minor hospital stay just to get away from them all! :)

But I agree with getrealmommy - good ole Posh never has to lift a finger (let alone a fork).

And the British accent... next time have your husband complain in a British accent and then you'll be in my world. It is easier on the ears, but you get used to it!
Johi said…
Ahaha! Awesome. I'm going to try the British accent someday, as soon as I learn how to do one. I suck at accents (except hillbilly- I do that one flawlessly!)
I agree. My horrible time is first thing in the morning though. I am not a morning person and every other creature in this house is downright gleeful and energetic super early. Snarl.
Becca said…
Hahaha, so true.

Ryan helped get the kids dressed this morning and NO LIE it took FOUR TRIPS up and down the stairs to get enough clothing for them all even though there was two weeks worth of laundry folded on the dining room table. I'm totally baffled by that.

I don't mind though because it gave me the time I needed to stare at the coffeemaker wondering what was taking so long.
I wonder how you know when I British person is pissed. They could be all, "Bugger off, you're a prat. Loo. Big Ben." And I'd be like, "I love you. Tell me more."
Allie said…
You had me at "manparts." Why do they do that? WHY? Every. single. day.
Heidi said…
I found your blog courtesy of the Blogess and I love it! I don't have a husband OR kids, but I do have a boyfriend and 2 annoying cats. I'm not sure I could handle much more at this ponit. Anyway, I plan on spending my afternoon right here, avoiding work. Gracias!
Heidi
http://heidimarkstyle.blogspot.com/

Popular posts from this blog

The House that God Built

in·stan·ta·ne·ous /ˌinstənˈtānēəs/ adjective 1. occurring or done in an instant or instantly.
synonyms: immediate, instant, on-the-spot







The thing is, she died so sudden.
I didn't have the chance to plead with God, to make all the irrational promises. If he would just let her be okay.... I would start taking better care of my health. I would be nicer to the neighbor that drove me crazy. I would always let someone else go in front of me at Walmart no matter how long the line was. I wouldn't complain. Ever. I would volunteer at the Homeless Shelter. I would clean up after pigs. I would clip the toenails of the elderly. I would do anything and everything He would ask me to do....
There is a box on her death certificate that captures the amount of time between the initial injury and the time of death. It reads "seconds." I wish it read "instantaneous" because she deserves a clever word like that.
Fast forward five years.... definitely taking MUCH longer than "…

Seeing Avery All Grown Up

One day I'll tell you about the freezing cold we left and the heavy bags we lugged, full of supplies and medicines. I'll tell you about arriving in Port au Prince and walking across a cracked concrete parking lot to board an old school bus with a flat tire. How the heat was suffocating after months of below zero Wisconsin winter weather, how the people crowded and walked too close to moving traffic as we searched for a tire shop that was barely more than a couple men sitting on overturned 5-gallon buckets on the side of the road next to a pile of old tires, everything covered in dirt.

I'll tell you about waiting on the bus while they removed the tire and I'll recall the loud explosion that rocked the bus and scared the life out of me and how I was relieved to learn it was just the tire blowing after being filled too far. (They didn't have any gauges.) And then I'll tell you about the fear I felt when I realized we didn't have a tire and we were stuck on th…

When Your Imagined Life is Nothing Like This One

There were so many ways I imagined my adult life would be....THIS is not one of them.
I posted that on my Facebook wall last night. It might have been seen as funny except my choice of hashtags gave me away:
treading water getting nowhere piles of disappointment not many successes worn out and exhausted out of options

I always imagined my life would be thrilling. Full of exciting adventures and people from all over the world. I would dine at Ethiopian, Thai, and Indian restaurants. I would write books, teach English, coach forensics and direct the play. My husband would be charming and funny and not care about gender roles when it came to household chores. He would beg for at least six kids and I would fall in love with him all over again each time I caught him giving good life advice.
I would take photographs and travel the world documenting the people I came across. I would adopt a sibling group of three or maybe four and work on foster care policies because the ones we have aren't work…