It's Fuck That Shit Friday!!!! I wish everyday was fuck that shit day because I am constantly coming into contact with people and situations that deserve that label. Homeless dudes bumming smokes from me on my break. Fuck that shit. People yelling at their kids in a grocery store. Fuck that shit. Putting away laundry. Fuck that shit. Waking up in the morning. Yeah, that's a given.
I'm really interested in this recent craze of bloggers who are trying to convince us that they have their shit together and need to do a daily brag about how much they get done in a single day. A day that, just like yours and mine, is made up of only 24 hours. That's if you don't sleep which I have decided, they don't. How is it possible to bake ten loaves of bread, clean your whole house, cut all of your twelve children's hair, make three meals from scratch and workout for three hours? Are these women on crack? Possible. I think the more likely conclusion is that they are meth heads, Lortab addicts or take anti-anxiety pills for fun. It's hard for me to believe that like the rest of us, these women need naps or ever have dinners that include sugar cereal and toast. They must be cut from some special cloth that enables them to never have a mental breakdown or feel the overwhelming desire to take a potty break that lasts for the entire showing of Monsters, Inc. I have taken that poop break before and it was completely necessary in order for me not to strangle the people I love.
I can't be entirely pissed about seeing their life play out like a Friday night sitcom because I for one am guilty of stealing their recipes, appreciating their decorating ideas a little too much and feeling more motivated to take my kids on an outing. Mostly out of guilt. I convince myself that their must be something seriously wrong with me if I can't live up to these unreachable standards. In turn, I attempt to do it all and then get so overwhelmed that I can be found rocking myself to sleep in the corner of my bedroom with a bottle of red wine in one hand and a lit cigarette in the other. Smoking isn't allowed in my house, so then I get in trouble.
If there had been Internet when my grandma was raising kids, she would have been that blogger. She was smart, funny and good at everything. When I say everything, I mean everything. She baked everyday, had a garden before it was hip and at one point had five kids who were preschool age or younger. She was Superwoman. There was one way to wash clothes when she was raising a family and it wasn't in an energy efficient washer that did all the work. It was by hand. She ground her own wheat and for awhile, had a goat that she milked daily to feed one of her babies who was lactose intolerant. Beat that, raw milk bitches!!!The fact that she never sat down and possibly never slept has been well accepted by her children and the many people whom she took dinners to, visited with on their death beds and ran marathons with. Yeah, she was an athlete too. If these blogger bitches want some real competition, they need to go back about 50 years and meet up with a real homesteader. I love all the hipster terms for going back to the basics of growing food and eating healthy. You fucking hipsters.
As I have noted in previous posts, I am not doing it all nor do I want to. I am doing only what I can mentally handle today and sometimes not even that. If you follow me on Instagram (which you should) you will see pics of my kids without their hair combed and backgrounds of my house with dog hair growing out of my sofa. Our Christmas card photo was an impromptu pic of my kids in our dining room and I had clearly not decluttered my house for many months. I am sure people who received the card wondered what I was thinking sending out a photo from an episode of Hoarders to celebrate Baby Jesus's birthday. What I was thinking is "I don't have time to do a proper photo op today and if I don't get these fucking things in the mail now, it's not going to happen until Easter." That's my reality. Usually I remember to feed the dog and sometimes my toilets get cleaned but I will never be organized or efficient enough to have a mommy blog about my perfect life. And if I ever try, please slap me while simultaneously handing me some liquor. And by some, I mean a bottle.
Find me on Instagram: mandybrasher
Twitter: @BrasherMandy
Facebook: Mandy Smith Brasher
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