Speech Therapy is Not for Mocking
I’ve been a fan of Melissa Chapman for approximately forever, so I was delighted when she agreed to step into The Mouthy Housewife stilettos and give guest advice. Don’t forget to check out Melissa’s parenting blog and follow her on Twitter, too! – Marinka, Mouthy Housewife (Extraordinaire)
Dear Mouthy Housewives,
I need advice on handling my father around my school-age daughter. She is currently in speech therapy, yet my dad (her grandfather) mocks her speech deficiencies. He does this by talking back at her with “baby” talk. He is being a total jerk-face, though he sees no harm in what he’s doing, (he thinks he’s being funny.) I’ve told him to stop, I’ve gotten angry at him and let him know, but he hasn’t stopped. What do I do?
Signed, Mama Bear
Well, it would seem as if you’re smack in the middle of a pretty sticky situation, but nothing that a Mouthy Housewife can’t handle. Since I come from the school that says you shouldn’t let anger well up inside of you until it morphs into a something even more unpleasant, I say it’s time you sit your pops down and have a nice, respectful heart-to-heart. (Out of your daughter’s ear shot, of course.) While he may think his jokes are harmless, as a woman, you know how tender and malleable a little girl’s sense of self can be. And therefore, there is no way you can just sit back and let him continue to make jabs at her.
I know confrontation is hard, but it’s a lot cheaper than shelling out $150 an hour for your daughter’s psychoanalysis which she will most certainly need after years of bring belittled by her grandpa. Or even worse—she could embark on a life-long mission to recapture her unrequited need for approval from distinguished older gentlemen and then end up with a major daddy complex. And that’s going to be tough considering Larry King’s dance card is already full.
If after you’ve had a little tête-à-tête with your dad and broken down exactly what he shouldn’t be doing vs. what you’d like him to do it’s still a no-go, tell him that, unless he’s willing to transfer a substantial sum of money into your bank account to offset your daughter’s future therapy bills, he’s no longer welcome in your house. Hit him where it hurts and I guarantee he’ll get the message loud and clear.
Best wishes,
Melissa, Guest TMH
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I’d Rather Join the FBI Than the PTA
Dear Mouthy Housewives,
I made a very huge mistake last year and fear I can never, ever get out of it short of moving or death. You see, I decided to become active in a militant group more popularly known as the PTA. They insist on blood (really), sweat (so unattractive) and tears (usually caused by the meanest of mean girl that can be found outside of a high school).
After realizing “These women are scary,” I quit and now they won’t go away. They stalk my Facebook, watch my tweets and even wait until I post something on my blog so they can then try to decipher hidden meanings in it that they think they can use to bring me down.
Do you think I have to change my name, move and join the witness protection program or is there another way to make these meanie moms go away? I tried a Roach Motel and Pest Control, but I am pretty sure they could even survive a nuclear war along with the roaches and Wall-E.
Signed,
If I Wanted to Play High School Games, It Wouldn’t Be Mean Girls; It’d Involve a Cheerleading Outfit & My Husband
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Dear If I Wanted,
It is so true that when our kids go back to school, we do also– and, for better and worse, we have a real possibility of a do-over, a chance to sit at a different lunch table. Unlike our own high school experiences, where the rules for who sat at the Mean Girls’ table were as inscrutable as they were ironclad, the rules for being part of the “in” crowd among school parents seem pretty simple. Like Marcia Brady, all one need do is sign oneself up. It sounds like that was your plan last year. But now that you’ve realized the Pretty Terrifying Absolutists are not really your style, did you really think you could just walk away? What were you thinking? They’ll cut a bitch.
Here’s what you need to understand: you cannot break up with a stalker, or else they’ll stalk you. You have to get them to break up with YOU, if they’re ever going to leave you alone. In your case, the best way to do this– stay with me, here– is to actually rejoin the PTA, but on the lowest-rung committee you can find. The Semiannual Coaches’ Appreciation Breakfast? The used pencils drive for the less fortunate (or less pencil-owning?) Pretend you’ve seen the light. Get back in- just a little bit. Then, be so lame at your lowly task that someone else has to step in and pick up the slack for you. Once they realize you are apparently so dim you don’t even know how to photocopy, they’ll dump your ass, and go after some sweet, unsuspecting pre-K mom. And sure, you could warn her.
But in a world this cutthroat, you gotta look out for yourself.
Sincerely,
Amy Wilson, Guest TMH
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Celebrity Deaths. So Sad. (Yawn.)
Welcome to Guest Mouthy Housewife Friday! Today’s Guest is the lovely Le Shallow Gal. Don’t let the French fool you, she’s very approachable. Even though she uses footnotes. She also holds the honor of being one of the few bloggers in the world who’s been over to my house. Which means that she observed my housewifery in action. Thanks, SG, for taking one for the team and doing the housewifely duty this Friday! – Marinka, TMH
Dear Mouthy Housewives,
Why are people so heartbroken when a geriatric celebrity dies? And am I dead inside because I don’t care about Dennis Hopper, Gary Coleman, and Golden Girl Rue? And what do I tell friends who seem to sit shiva for every Hollywood geezer that keels over?
Signed,
Celebrity Death Match
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Dear Celebrity Death Match,
Dennis Hopper, Gary Coleman and Rue McClanahan all died within a week of each other? Wow, bad things really do happen in two and a half (1). But honey, if you’re looking for an impartial evaluation of your empathetic appropriateness, you’ve come to the wrong place.
Now the first part of your question is really more of a psych 101 final, so here’s my blue book in a nutshell. Celebrity deaths are sad because: people become aware of their mortality / Celebrities are raised to a deity-like status and thought to be immortal / People feel like they know famous people and thus feel like they lost a friend.
But I’m not making the big bucks (2) for helping community college students cheat on an exam, but rather for giving advice, so here it is:
There are different levels of celebrity mourning. Making a Michael Jackson playlist for a party? Acceptable. Buying and bronzing everything Billy Mays ever hawked? Not acceptable. I’m assuming your friends falls somewhere in the middle. (3)
Therefore, just smile, agree how sad it is and change the subject to whether Jill and Bethenny are going to be able to salvage their friendship. If the subject returns to the dearly departed, a simple “I’m so sorry for your loss” should make them realize how silly they sound, while sounding sincere enough to avoid being called a heartless bitch.
But if they’re serving lox from Zabars at these little shiva gatherings, let me know. For the right Kosher spread, I may be able to work up a little angst.
Sincerely,
Amy, Guest TMH
1) How creepy is it that Gary Coleman’s casket already had his name on it?
I could do this all day.
2) Any previous guest poster who did not receive their check and gift basket needs to let Marinka know ASAP.
3) If they’re on the Billy Mays side of the spectrum, I’m afraid you need new friends.
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Help, My Friend Stinks!
Awwww, yeah, it’s Guest Post Friday. Which just so happens to be our favorite day of the week because it’s when The Mouthy Housewives can hoist our problems onto the shoulders of some very cool, funny writers. Writers like today’s esteemed guestest hostest Margaret from the popular humor blog Nanny Goats and Panties. (Yes, she really does have photos of goats wearing panties.) Thank you, Miss Margaret—we’re honored to have you here today!
Dear Mouthy Housewives,
Recently, a friend complimented me on my perfume and asked me what it was. It was my signature scent, but I still told her. Of course she bought a bottle and now she uses it and loves it. I’m upset because although I know that everyone’s body chemistry transforms a scent a little, it’s very distinctive and I feel like my signature has been forged. What should I do?
Signed,
Smelly Stephanie
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Dear Smelly Stephanie,
Oh, how I wished you’d asked me this before you went and blabbed your secret to your friend because I would have told you to lie right through your pearly whites. But now that the smelly cat is already out of the bag, you do have some options for the next course of action.
If you’re the pacifistic or conflict-avoidant type, consider another signature scent. Take a Zen-like approach and learn to unlike your current favorite perfume. Be open to a new olfactory modality. Or, adopt a “sour grapes” attitude and tell yourself that you never liked that horrible reeking odor anyway. In either case, after you’ve eliminated the desire, cleanse your entire sensory system by running through a ginger-filled meadow. Then visit your local custom fragrance mixologist. Do not buy anything “off the shelf”. Once you’ve discovered your new signature bouquet, do not allow them to tell you what the ingredients are, but make sure they lock up the recipe in their secure and smelly vaults. This way you will never again divulge your secret scent.
If you are of a more stubborn nature and have no qualms with face-to-face confrontation, talk to your friend and explain that while you two seem to have similar tastes in the nose-pleasing arena, you considered this your special scent so when she wears it, it’s like she’s wearing the same dress to the same cocktail party as you. Perhaps by pointing out this analogy, she’ll understand and cease her egregious behavior immediately. Otherwise, this is a fantastic opportunity to punch her lights out.
If you don’t think your friend is one to listen to reason and you refuse to change your perfume, perhaps some chicanery is in order. Have male friends walk past her, say, at a party, with various indications that, P.U., she stinks. They should wave away something offensive while stifling a cough. With pinched faces, they should utter, “I say, what’s that stench?” This will probably put a stop to your traitor friend stealing your personal fragrance.
If none of the above efforts appeal to you, then sue the bajeezus out of her. Because while mimickry is the sincerest form of flattery, forgery is almost always illegal, and people should pursue their own aromatic endeavors, or pay dearly fighting about it.
And for Pete’s sake, lie the next time someone asks you what that delicious scent is. It’s not like they can come back and accuse you of misleading them, because you know, everyone’s body chemistry transforms a scent – blah, blah, blah.
Best of luck!
Margaret
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Married Sex, Better.
It’s Guest Mouthy Housewife Friday and we’re going all international on you. Emma from Belgian Waffle is guest advising today, which is great news because she’s smart and funny. And across the pond. Please enjoy the post and when you check out her blog, don’t forget to get a load of the Weepette.
Dear Mouthy Housewives,
I had a recent girls’ dinner (with a lot of wine) and it turns out that none of us are having much sex these days. We’re all married and we certainly are sexually active with our husbands but it’s all so bland and ordinary. We all miss the excitement of dating someone new. Please don’t us to buy some lingerie and try some sex toys because that ain’t going to turn my guy into the hot cabana boy at our local pool club. Any new ideas for this age old problem?
In Quest of Better Married Sex
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Dear Quest,
Hmm. Good question.
Firstly, as someone who no longer has any married sex – due to no longer being married – let me tell you, it’s probably a lot better than you realise. Only since I escaped the cosy bubble of my 15 year marriage, did I realise* that there are a lot of men out there who are either into weird stuff; or simply a bit rubbish in bed. The wild, erotic experiences I fondly imagined myself having have frequently broken down in reality to 50% embarrassment, 25% WTF, 5% erotically satisfying, 20% more embarrassment. I may score particularly highly on embarrassment because I’m British, but I still stand by my assertion that sex with someone new isn’t automatically better just because it’s novel. Forget about the cabana boy. He probably likes to be wrapped in saran wrap and peed on, whilst listening to Barry Manilow.
Ok, married sex won’t always be the acme of erotic experience. You’re tired, you’re wearing fleecy pyjamas, he hasn’t showered and he seems more interested in finishing his third ninja level sudoku puzzle of the evening, the kids have escaped from their bedrooms and are scratching at your door demanding snacks. Even so, it has a stack of good points.
Good things about married sex:
1. No weird surprises.
2. Your partner knows what you like (if they don’t something is terribly wrong or you are British. I can say that, I’m British).
3. No need for extreme (any?) feats of grooming/depilating.
4. No need to pretend to be incredibly acrobatic and turned on by any weird surprises.
5. Can be used as a currency or bargaining chip in important domestic debates.
6. Rarely lasts long enough to stop you watching your favourite tv shows.
So. Married sex = good. If you want to think of some ways to make it even better, you’re asking the wrong person (I’m British, remember). However, I can recommend you check out this absolutely excellent blog where a woman and her husband have set each other the challenge of seducing one another in a variety of ways weekly over the course of a year. It’s funny, well-written, and it also has some great ideas of realistic ways to have a bit of fun with your sex life without falling into cliches.
Now go away, I’m blushing.
Good luck,
Emma, Guest TMH
(*Based on my limited sample group and on research with friends. I’m no Anaïs Nin. I’m British, remember?)
