Confessions of a Chronically Irritated Housewife

Housewife means sleeping in until 8 a.m!

Let’s just get one thing straight: I’m tired. I’m over it. And if one more person says “you just need a little self-care,” I’m going to throw a shoe at them. I’m a mom of three, wife to a man whose spirit animal is “I’ll do it later,” and caretaker to a zoo of pets including a tortoise who eats better than I do. I live in a house powered entirely by chaos, noise, and passive-aggressive sighs.

My day starts somewhere between 6 and 8 a.m. (and yes, 8 a.m. is sleeping in—don’t test me). I’m up cooking breakfast, packing a lunch, feeding pets, walking the dog, and then maybe—maybe—I get to sit down for thirty seconds before someone wakes up in a bad mood and starts a pre-dawn war over cereal.

I like people... conceptually. I can be social. I can be friendly. But don’t mistake that for endless patience. I can match your energy, sure. But if your energy is rude, I’ll match that too—with interest and a receipt.

And can we talk about the “you’re kind of a bitch” thing? Oh really? You mean I have boundaries and no tolerance for grown adults acting like children? Okay then. I’ll take it. I’m not mean. I’m just not fake, and apparently that confuses people.

If I had a dollar for every time I rolled my eyes, I could buy silence. Beautiful, uninterrupted silence. My dream day? No cooking. No cleaning. No whining. No one asking me where something is that they didn’t even bother to look for. Just peace. And maybe a chair without cracker crumbs.

Also: I’m not a Target mom. Don’t try to convert me. I shop at Walmart out of necessity, not love. That place is a lawless land of broken carts, screaming toddlers, and regret—but unfortunately, it's where everything is. I like it so much I wrote about it here! 

People think I’ve got it all together because I don’t whine constantly. That’s hilarious. I just bottle it up like a shaken soda and hope no one opens the lid. And when I hit my limit? The "bitch" shines through like the sun after a rainstorm.

But here's the kicker—I still show up. I cook meals I won’t even eat just so my family can try new things. I clean up (rage clean) after everyone. I keep everything running, even when I want to just... not.

So yeah, I’m chronically irritated. But I’m still here. Still holding it down. And if you’re anything like me, just know: you’re not alone. You’re allowed to be annoyed and still be a badass!

 

If I made you laugh, cringe, or question your entire existence—consider tossing a tip my way.