My husband leaves piles of junk all over the house. It drives me crazy. I can’t just throw it all out because there are important receipts, business cards and bills mixed in with the movie stubs. But I’m sick of cleaning up after him. Any ideas?

Signed,

OMFG

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Dear OMFG,

Oh dear LORD, can I relate, woman. My husband is what I affectionately refer to as three-garage-sales-away-from-an-episode-of-Hoarders. He likes to save. EVERYTHING. And since I happen to be on the opposite end of the spectrum–in that I hate clutter and don’t understand why ALL dishes aren’t, in fact, disposable–it occasionally creates some conflict within our marriage.

Since I lack any sort of organizational skills, I can only tell you my personal coping strategies and hope that they guide you well. (Enough.)

1. Hide that shit in a drawer.

If I’m too exhausted or annoyed to weed through his piles, but also too irritated to look at the clutter for ONE MORE SECOND, I’ll just shove his junk out of view in a closet or something. This can be mildly rewarding, because it allows you the chance to pretend that this whole issue isn’t really happening! The downside, of course, is that he’ll start to accuse you when his papers go missing and he finds his gym shorts in the attic.

2. Retaliate.

What’s a pet peeve of his that you can exploit in an effort to more passive-aggressively communicate your issue? Does he hate it when you leave wet towels on the bathroom floor? Have sex with other men? Call him “Schmoopy” in front of his friends? Perhaps if your own personal happiness isn’t motivation for him to get himself in gear, his own humiliation and shame will work.

3. Help him out. However begrudgingly.

Your husband is likely leaving these piles around because he’s either too overwhelmed by the task of organizing everything or simply unequipped with the tools to accomplish the goal. (Of course, he could also just be frickin’ lazy, but I’ll give him the benefit of the doubt. As I do my husband. Ahem.) Get some file cabinets, folders, office organizing trays, and see if you can’t work together over the weekend to at least get his mess confined to one area of the house.

As fed up as you may be, try to remember that we all have our faults, and that some of those are simply more visible than others. And maybe for your next marriage, try to find yourself a nail-biter instead.

Good luck!

Kristine, TMH

My daughter is 7 and has a few friends at school that she likes to play with after school or on weekends. All of the parents have no problem with my daughter coming over to play and they only have good things to say about her. The problem is that I don’t really like to host kids over at my house. There are a few reasons for this:

First, I have four rambunctious dogs and two cats. The dogs get too excited while the cats aren’t nice (nor do they always use their litter box, much to my dismay.)

Second, I am not an overly tidy person. My house is clean enough for me and my family, but it could use some work for “strangers.”

And finally, I’m just not the hostess type and I’m okay with this fact. I don’t intend to change.

My problem is that one parent keeps pushing for a play date at my house. She has stopped inviting my daughter over and, instead, keeps mentioning the kids playing over here. I need to know how to get her off my back about it while not divulging my issues. I don’t want to offend her because I do like the mom and I don’t want to cause any problems with the children. I even thought about coming up with some phobia, but not sure what would fit.

Signed,

Martha Stewart Doesn’t Live Here

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Dear Martha Stewart Doesn’t Live Here,

In the very pressurized and etiquette laden world of Mommy and Me meetings and scheduled progeny play dates it is, in fact [just looking up the bylaws here, one minute. OK. Got it.] against the law to not reciprocate when it comes to hosting, penalty can be equal to: The Silent Treatment, The Rumor Mill, or Public Shunning. Even Hannibal the Cannibal knew all about quid pro quo. So, perhaps we should discuss a different strategy?

First, let’s address the pets. While I understand it has to be very difficult to have people over when it seems like your home is already a 24-hour animal party, it’s important to be able to put the animals away, perhaps in another room(s). Because unless your animals are descendants of Cerberus (I once had a dog who was) and are all on a career path to guarding the gates of hell, you should sequester them every once in a great while, for a few hours, so that you can reciprocate a play date.

Second, as to your cleanliness standards, a wise…no, wait…a waif-like girl once said: “I’m horrible to live with. I don’t clean. My clothes end up wherever I take them off. I forget to flush the toilet.” And she was in Transformers 1 and 2 and on the Maxim Hot List! While we can’t all be Megan Fox, it does show you that success isn’t predicated upon cleanliness. A lot of other mothers have similar anxieties about how clean their houses should be. But in reality, most parents don’t really care if their kid has a friend whose house isn’t perfect or tidy or uncluttered. As long as Charlie Sheen and Brooke Mueller aren’t permanent residents on your couch, I believe even the most neurotic of moms would let you slide (and, yes, I am talking about me).

Finally, with regard to the hostess duties, I’m not sure what kind of highfalutin’ fancy pants play dates you attend, but the majority that I’m aware of don’t require much except your kid, a glass of water and maybe some cheddar Goldfish. But then it’s always possible that I’m hanging with the wrong crowd, and by wrong crowd, I mean not with Bill Gates’ kids.

Basically, it’s only fair to share the responsibilities and wreckage that comes with kids’ playdates. And while we all certainly want to put our best foot forward, sometimes just putting out an unshaved leg with non-manicured toes is all it takes for everyone to be happy.

Good Luck,

Tonya, TMH

Every birthday and holiday that rolls around, my son gets a few bucks in his cards, and I’ve been stuffing it in his piggy bank. Three years have gone by, and it’s added up to around $150 in small bills. I tucked the bank back in the corner of his closet and forgot about it. Today, I popped it open and found that the money is gone. We don’t have a lot of guests, we are fairly new in a big city without nearby family, and I’ve never had a playdate here. The only people that have been in my son’s room are:

1) the housekeeper, “Helen”
2) the babysitter, “Barb”
3) the babysitter’s 10 year old daughter, “Sticky Fingers”

I don’t think it was Helen. She came highly recommended and her whole family has worked for a good friend of mine in one capacity or another for almost 20 years. I don’t think Barb did it, either. Her references checked out before we hired her, and I don’t think she would risk losing her job. This leaves me with Sticky Fingers… for one, she’s a kid, and kids do stupid things. They are easily tempted. I teach high school, and boy, do I know how kids lie. I’m without a confession (she denied it) or hard proof, just my gut. Do I fire Barb for not watching Sticky Fingers more carefully? Keep Barb, but say Sticky is not welcome? Is the cloud of suspicion just so thick, that I have to fire everyone and start over?

Sincerely, Chump Change

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Dear Chump Change,

Let me start off by saying that I know first-hand the emotions that come from having something stolen from you. Theft leaves you feeling completely violated and helpless, and it can take some time to recover from something like that.

That said, I think that, if you like this babysitter, you will have to get over it.

The truth is that you’ll never know who the bandit was.  And even though my money is certainly on Sticky Fingers (that thieving little so-and-so), I kind of feel badly for her. I mean you, of course! But also her. Okay, mostly her.

You see, I am not surprised at all at the idea of a 10 year-old stealing. I am a little saddened by it, however. Call me “soft” or “ridden with childhood trauma,” but I happen to be of the belief that, if a kid is taking things, that kid is in need of attention or love. (Or, you know, in this case, money.) This certainly doesn’t justify her actions, but I think that if you put yourself in her shoes for a moment, you’ll actually be helping yourself in the end.

First, you need to make it clear–respectfully but terrifyingly so–that any misdeeds are absolutely not tolerated in your home. And if you do that well enough, the fear instilled within the young girl should be enough to keep her hands steady. (If not, laser beams, blow horns, dobermans, and booby traps will.)

Second, consider how you might help keep those hands of hers occupied while her mother is working. Surely she can’t enjoy having to tag along with mom. Do you have books or arts and crafts appropriate for someone her age? Or a closet with a window? Basement? Garage? Just spitballing here…

So. Do you love Barb or what? If so, you’ll simply have to figure a way to make it work. Just be proactive about keeping your belongings safe, lay down some iron-clad ground rules, and keep that girl busy.

(But if it happens again, fire that woman and her jerky kid without a second thought.)

My best,

Kristine, TMH

And if you’re looking for some mid-summer fun to keep your kids out of your hair entertained in an educational fashion, be sure to check out The Mouthy Housewives’ Tip of the Week: Surviving Summer Vacation!

When your flip flop comes off of your foot because it stuck to the kitchen floor, does that mean it’s time to mop? Can you tell me any other signs that scream someone needs to clean house? Like when the dust bunnies race to the vacuum cleaner, did I wait too long between vacuuming? I’m afraid I’m not very good at this.

Signed,

Pig-Pen

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Dear Pig-Pen,

Your question is leaving me a little misty-eyed, thinking back upon my days in college. I was infamous for leaving my dishes in the sink until they bonded to the stainless steel in a blanket of mold and decay.

Sometimes, if I felt the need to enter the kitchen, I’d spray some ammonia in the sink to cancel out the stench. A week or so later, I’d cave and just throw the dishes in the garbage. Cleanliness and domesticity weren’t exactly a strong point, I’m afraid.

::huffs Windex::

Once I got married, however, and started introducing offspring to my toxic ecosystem, I realized I needed to get myself together. Overwhelmed, confused, and saddened by my incompetence, there was an especially dark moment when I considered buying a Martha Stewart book on how to clean your house.

::swigs Lysol::

But that was then, Pig-Pen, and this is now. Since my BC (Before Clorox) days, I’ve learned a few things about keeping my home sanitary, and I’m more than happy to share them with you here. So, keep in mind that it’s time to clean when you encounter the following:

1. Your children start naming the houseflies, field mice, and cockroaches.

2. There’s a ring around the bathtub. And the floorboards. And your boyfriend’s collar.

3. You’re considering calling your homeowner’s insurance and claiming a total loss due to “natural disaster”.

4. You start treating your bathroom like a public restroom, complete with squatting, hovering, and that thing where you use a paper towel to open the door.

5. Visitors think you’re jumping on the eco-friendly-home bandwagon with what appears to be a dirt floor.

6. If you’ve emptied your Fantastik bottle and replaced it with acetone before cleaning the countertops.

7. When you find the children/spouses/housemates/guests under the kitchen table declaring, “Snack time!”

8. Going camping in the mountains for some “fresh air” is more of a medical necessity than leisurely activity.

9. You find yourself kicking the laundry pile toward the washing machine because you don’t want to aggravate a previous back injury from that time you actually lifted the basket.

10. Have you seen that movie Pink Flamingos? (Yeah, me neither.) If you watch it and ever sigh with recognition…well…skip the cleaning and just move to another house, sister.

::powders face with Comet::

Now, I know this is a lot to take in, and I don’t want you to feel overwhelmed. It’s taken me years to get to a place where my husband has stopped suggesting we apply for a spot on Hoarders. That said, if this all sounds like too much work, you could always just remodel your home with black paint, carpet, appliances, and furniture. Dark hides the dirt really well. Trust.

::dabs Pine Sol behind ears::

Godspeed,

Kristine, TMH

I am losing my mind with laundry. I don’t understand why my children take off their pants and underwear in one move, so that the underwear is stuck inside the pants and I then have to separate them while I do laundry. And also socks. Why must they throw them, balled up, into the basket and then I have to unball (?) their disgusting stinky socks. GOD!

Signed,

Laundry Wench

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Dear Laundry Wench,

Remember those halcyon days when you were first pregnant? When all of the books and movies you saw showed the joys of new motherhood and how beautiful life with a sweet baby was going to be? Yes? You do?

Well, lady, it was all a total crock.

Because what nobody tells you about motherhood is that immediately after your epidural wears off, you’ll suddenly find yourself stuck in a 20+ year abusive relationship with a Maytag washing machine. Not to mention his evil sock eating cohort, the f*cking dryer. And, baby, I hate to break it to you, but there ain’t nowhere to run to, nowhere to hide. Yo ass gonna be stuck in that laundry room til they ship you off to the funny farm for licking Bounce dryer sheets and shotgunning Tide straight out of the bottle. (Bottoms up!)

However, the good news is it still might be possible to make your indentured servitude a little less painful—if you put a few Laundry Rules in place. Rules such as:

First Rule: All underwear must be removed from pants before placing into hamper or the offender will be charged $1.00 per tighty whitey.

Second Rule: All socks must be de-balled before placing into hamper or the offender will be charged $1.00 per sock.

Third Rule: All pockets must be emptied of all rocks, sticks, Silly Bandz, crayons, chicken nuggets, mommy’s lipstick, etc. before placing into hamper or the offender will be charged $1.00.

Fourth Rule: Whoever does the laundry gets a solo vacation to Mexico once  year.

Remember, the kids are going to keep doing those annoying things with their clothes unless you give them incentive not to do those annoying things, so you need to stand up for yourself. Let yourself be heard. Slap a laundry basket on your head and run through the streets screaming, “I’M MAD AS HELL AND I’M NOT GONNA TAKE IT ANYMORE, YOU KETCHUP STAINED MORONS!” until you get arrested. And/or made the president of your PTA.

Because while you may feel like you’re The Laundry Wench, nothing’s going to change a bit until you start acting like The Laundry Bitch.

Good luck,

Wendi, TMH

My husband and I are slobs. We’re not quite starring on Hoarders or anything, but I haven’t changed my cleaning habits much since I had a path to my bed when I was 10. Luckily (or unluckily) my husband has the same tolerance to clutter/mess that I do, so it’s never before been a cause of marital strife. But now I’m trying to change.

This past month I’m on a roll and have started making visible progress, but this has coincided with one of my husband’s worst months at work. All he wants to do when he gets home is sit in his chair and watch TV, all evening, all weekend. You know, the kind of behavior that has been OK for the past dozen years of marriage, but it’s suddenly pissing me off. It’s very frustrating to not get any help and feel like I’m the only one actually fighting in the battle to reform. (Full disclosure: He does notice what I’ve done during the day and is lavish with the compliments.)

How do I balance genuinely needing help and support versus “You can’t change another person, only yourself”?

Signed,

Nearly Neat

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Dear Nearly Neat,

Congratulations on being on the path to cleanliness! They say it is next to godliness, which I guess explains the voices I hear in my head: God is right next to me, talking to me. Or maybe I hear the voices because of all the cleaner fumes I breathe in when I scrub the tub. Either way, who cares! The house is clean and I’m happy because God tells me I deserve a vodka tonic after all my hard work.

It’s true we can’t change another person, only ourselves. The weird thing though, is that by changing ourselves, it also changes others. Mahatma Gandhi also speaks to me, mostly when I use a lot of bleach in the whites, and he told me that directly from heaven! What’s stranger still is Gandhi was a man so I’m wondering if he ever did his own whites. What did he know about extensive housework?

But this is marriage we’re talking about here. Partnership! Helpmate! The reality is things aren’t always exactly 50/50. Right now he’s under a lot of stress. We know husbands have to take care of themselves emotionally just like we do. So maybe, for now, you should let him off the cleaning reform hook. If you have old enough children, make them take his place. What did we have kids for if not to at least wash the dirty dishes?! As a child I was convinced that was the only reason my parents had my sister and me.

As far as the weekend goes, well, I think that’s a wee bit different. For the time being, perhaps you should scale back your expectations. Say, get him to help you on a specific cleaning job for, I don’t know, an hour or two, and then call it quits and do something fun, like go out for ice cream or watch as your kids do the dishes. (I swear my parents’ FAVORITE pastime.) And don’t forget to let yourself off the hook a little right now too.

But once things calm down at work, put the screws to him. Work his @$$ off and make him earn IT. And you know what I mean by “IT”.

Signed,

Heather, TMH

What is the best way to drive home the message that dirty dishes go in the dishwasher and not in the sink as a staging area?  Because I’m about to kill my husband and appear on a very special episode of “Snapped.”

Signed,

Dishpan Hands

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Dear Dishpan Hands,

I certainly sympathize with your problem, however I must tell you that you need to let go of your anger immediately. You see, according to the New England Journal of Made-Up Medicine, scientists have recently discovered that the DNA code of male humans does not include the “Clean Up After Your Own Shit” gene. Yep, they can’t help it, the dirty, little darlings. They were just born that way.

In fact, over the past 18 years of my marriage, I have observed this genetic anomaly on a daily basis. To wit: Husband uses bowl. Husband places bowl in sink that’s TEN INCHES away from the shiny dishwasher he himself installed. Husband wanders away to scratch. Twelve hours later, husband opens cabinet and grabs same, exact bowl that’s now magically clean. How’d that happen? he wonders. Osmosis? Fairies? The ghost of Billy Mays? Ah, well, who the f*ck cares? Cereal good.

Now despite his affliction, I’ve still tried a few guerrilla tactics to try to change his behavior over the years. Maybe one of these would do the trick for you:

1) Let the dishes pile up until the kitchen smells like the dumpster behind the Chattanooga Waffle House

2) Invite his parents over for a fancy dinner, then serve filet mignon on disposable paper plates

3) Invite his boss over for a fancy dinner served on your wedding china, then while she’s watching, have the dog lick the plates clean before you put them back in the cabinets

4) Fill the dishwasher with beer, popcorn and Victoria’s Secret catalogs so he forever associates it with “good stuff inside.”

5) Finally, refuse to let him “load your dishwasher” until he “loads the dishwasher.”

Of course, none of those things has actually worked for me. No, I’m still transferring dishes out of the sink and into the dishwasher like the world’s prettiest indentured servant.  But you know what? I’m okay with that because I recently discovered  a genetic anomaly of my own: The inability to not order shoes online when seething with resentment over household chores.

Good luck,

Wendi, TMH

My husband is not like many men. He’s a neat freak, anal retentive, and basically never stops! He is constantly cleaning, working, out in the garden, or fixing something. I chip in with the chores often so it’s not all one sided but he’s so annoying that if I clean something, it’s not clean enough so he does it all over again – then complains that I don’t help. He’ll ask me to do something and if I don’t do it that very second, he does it and complains that I don’t help. I will tell him I’m going to do this, this, and this but he just does it anyway – and says I don’t help! He’s driving me crazy especially because of the digs he plays on me daily. If I’m vacuuming or something, he’ll say, it’s about time you did something. I just want to strangle him! He never sees all the stuff I’m doing every day, just focuses on stuff that’s not done yet. He’s constantly living life trying to “get things done” and I’m sick of it! I want A. to rest sometimes, B. him to realize I do help! and C. to stop the digs!

Signed,

No Help

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Dear No Help,

I am writing this advice from the top of a Laundry Mountain, so I have to assume that what you have here is a genuine problem and not an attempt to rub my face into the fact while my husband is watching the Mets game, your husband is a cleaning machine.  A cleaning machine that seems to want you to clean along side with him , at supersonic speed and at his specifications.  Hmm…I’m starting to see the issue.

As so often happens in life, you have some choices!

1. Go the “gee whiz, but you do it so well” route, which basically butters him up to do it all while you act all lobotomized at the prospect of loading the dishwasher.  Sure you lose face, but you’re preserving the marriage.

2. Take him on.  Have a friend come over one day and watch as you and your husband each vacuum one half of the living room.  Your friend will then rate each of you on speed, grace, and effectiveness.  Feel free to do this for other cleaning chores, for as long as your friend is willing to play along. (And if you find that after a few rounds of The Clean-Off none of your friends return your calls, write us again!  Because The Mouthy Housewives are here to help!)

3.  Designate Cleaning Zones.  Make a chart.  One week, you’re responsible for dishwashing and bon bon eating while he dusts and vacuums and does laundry; the next week you switch and he does the laundry, vacuums and dusts while you eat bon bons.  Tell him that according to your union rules, neither of you is to be supervised while cleaning and any digs received about your cleaning will lead to an immediate ceasing and desisting of the same.

Good luck!

Marinka, TMH

I have an question that I don’t think Emily Post would touch, so I’m guessing you are the right women to ask. I would like to know how you feel about the etiquette of being barefoot in someone else’s house. We have a lot of friends whose houses are shoe free — meaning they kick shoes off at the door so as to protect the cleanliness of their floors. In the winter, it’s no biggie as a guest: you just make sure you choose socks without holes before going over.

But in summer, when I almost never wear socks, I find myself often barefoot in other people’s homes. I’m always barefoot in mine, so it doesn’t really bother me, but I wonder if I really ought to be skeeved out. Or if they are. Should I put socks under my Tevas (fashion FAIL!) before I go over, just so that my feet aren’t bare on their floors? And what about the unanticipated visit when I’m wearing pretty sandals or summer slides…sockless? What would you do?

Signed, Well Pedicured in MI

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Dear Well Pedicured,

Oh, I feel your pain. And I confess, I don’t understand the whole “take your shoes off, ye who enter here!” movement.   Is it because their floors are so clean that they want to prove that they can, in fact, eat off of them?  Or do they think that you’ve been tracking  through the mud and don’t want pig slop on their carpet?

Personally, I think it’s rude to ask your guests to remove their shoes and pile them by the door like some kind of entryway to Treblinka.  But when in Rome, do like the Romans.  Which means that you have to start battling lions, or at the very least take off your shoes.

Summertime takes it up a notch and makes you walk around barefoot, like an older and slower Zola Budd.   I have the very opposite of a foot fetish, so I don’t understand how anyone can bear to look at our people’s FEET.  With TOES. And heels.  Gag.

But to each her own.  So if you suspect that your host is into shoelessness, slip a pair of socks into your purse before heading over to her house.   Or better yet, bring your own slippers and robe. I’m pretty sure that’s what people say when they tell their guests “make yourself at home!”

Happy feet to you,

Marinka, TMH

Woo-hoo! It’s Day Two of the Mouthy Housewives’ first birthday celebration! Today the wonderful Wendi (who does not look like Tracey Gold’s DUI mugshot, so please stop telling her that) is asking all of you for a bit of advice. So come on ladies, get those fingers on your keyboards and show us what you’ve learned from Oprah!

Dear Mouthy Readers,

Ever since both of my sons started going to school seven hours a day, I find myself unable to keep a set schedule for myself. I’m not disorganized, but try as I might, I can’t seem to find a daily routine to follow. Some days I work out at 9 a.m., some days it’s 1 p.m.  Some days I have my daily tub of ice cream at 5 p.m., some days it’s 5:05 p.m. Basically, I seem to go wherever the day takes me.

Is there an easy, non-restrictive way I can be more efficient with my writing time, my household time, my volunteering time and everything else that seems to pop up? (And please don’t suggest a pie chart—those only make me think of my daily ice cream. Is it 5:06 p.m. already?)

Signed,

Wendi, TMH