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Xanax & Xylophones/Husbands & Headaches

Xanax & Xylophones/Husbands & Headaches is a post from my up and coming book, “One More Sip of Whine.” It is a humorous tale of my experience in motherhood thus far.  Crude, raw, honest, crass, foul mouthed in nature sums up this book. It will be released this summer on Amazon Kindle.  Enjoy the chapter and keep a look out for the release!  I will post on my blog when that date has arrived.  Let me know your thoughts in the comments.  Thanks!


Xanax & Xylophones/Husbands & Headaches


NOISE.  HEADACHE.  CHILD.  HUSBAND.  Noise.  Headache.  Child.  Husband… and the cycle continues.  It’s Groundhog’s day here at the Rugile/Burns household but I’m not getting paid Murray style moola for this gig.   Through my long and winding road that I’ve travelled, where did I fail to turn towards the path of enlightenment?  Maybe I should consider embracing Buddhism.  I do love those bald and fat bellied statues, especially in my garden.   Also, I think I could really get down with meditation, or at least the music, especially when coupled with a sweet massage.  Lastly, I freakin’ love Thailand and any excuse to go back there is a good one.

I am sure I’ll mention this many times; I am a music teacher.   Colleagues come into my classroom regularly and ask me how I cope with all of the incredible noise.  To which I retort, “what noise?  Oh, that?  I’ve stopped hearing those sounds years ago.”  I say this coupled with a ‘pish-posh-like’ flick of the hair and slight ‘tude. I don’t hear the children, their instruments, their exuberant yelps, dog like whines, cat clawing arguments etc.  It’s not that I don’t give a crap, I have simply learned to block them out.  I could never do this job if I heard every last itty bitty freakin’ bang, crash, or curse.  I’d go “bleepin’” mental.  However, when I am home, I hear everything.  I hear lil’ G’s adorable laughter and Thomas’ (my husband) silly toddler voices and then… screech!  The sound of a record going tits up and my ears and brain begin to bleed.  Once the bleeding starts, it’s almost impossible to stop.  In fact, I sometimes begin hemorrhaging.  And then, once again, all of the mother shamers swim up, thirsty, ready to chew me to shreds.  They can smell me from a million miles away.  “There she goes again, ruining her child… again…”  However, I should really say, “There she goes again, ruining her children… again…”  Remember, I, too, am a wife, which means, I have a ‘huschild’.  It goes a lil’ somethin’ like this: The banging of the metal xylophone (the loudest instrument on earth- thanks Gymboree), throw in the tambourine (Thomas’ go-to and most favorite musical toy- ‘bleep’ me), screaming, add some ‘singing’; “Danny Boy,” with some interesting lyrics and about 5 different key changes in one phrase, kill my musical ears now, Sky news (Thomas is Scottish) blaring from the television in the background, the sound of my somewhat broken drier banging harder than a whore and her pimp on a headboard, and then, right when my brain is about to spontaneously combust, someone decides now is a really great time to throw in the lovely timbre of the recorder, but not before shot-putting a couple of drum sticks in my general direction.  I love my life, I love my life, I love my life, I think I can, I think I can, I think I can… Mommy needs a Xanax, ‘children’.

Now, every time, okay, almost every time I see/hear my munchkin doing/saying something that is fairly questionable I ask myself this, “What would Xanax Heather do?” and, voila!  I have my answer! 


Heather: “Sh**, should he be standing on the countertop that close to the edge?” 

Xanax Heather: “‘Bleep’ it!  He’s allllll gooood.!” 

So, I go with the latter. 


Heather: “Two pancakes. Greyson, mommy said only two pancakes!” 

Xanax Heather: “‘Bleep’ it!  Have three. No, ‘bleep’ that, have ten!”  … “Let them eat cake!  Let them alllll eat cake! Mwahahahahahahahaaaaaa!”

So, again, I go with the latter.  Once adopting this new and glorious frame of mind, this adorable and insane new philosophy, I find myself breathing easier and needing “one less sip of whine.” Catch my drift? Good.


*A cleaned up version of a chapter in my upcoming book, “One More Sip of Whine,” which will be published on Amazon Kindle this summer.  Tales of motherhood told through a raw, crude, foul mouthed, and humorous lens.

*Image from Dreamstime


-Written by,

 Heather Rugile



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