Since when did we (human beings) start to care SO much about what others say or think about us? I guess since we evolved but when did it start directly affecting our lives? Why do I STILL at the age of 31 NEED to have the approval of my parents? Or be scared to tell them something without judgement? Or why can’t my husband tell his Mother the truth? Is her opinion THAT devastating to you to us? Or perhaps it’s the other way around. It really doesn’t matter. I look at my life and can say OPINIONS DO NOT MATTER. I don’t want to hear anyone’s advice unless I SPECIFICALLY ask for it. So WHAT if I change my hair color, even though you KNOW it won’t look good or if we get ANOTHER dog we can’t afford, when did it become YOUR worry? Why are you wasting time on this? I TRY to make the best decisions for my family and I. PERIOD. Unless I ASK you, DON’T TELL ME WHAT YOU THINK. Be happy for me and say “Wow that is a UNIQUE look” or “Wow your dog is so good with your girls.” Also WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU TO SAY A GOD DAMN THING! I am going to make mistakes, but unless those mistakes are going to harm me in a way the is detrimental to children’s or my life, SHUT YOUR MOUTH! I SERIOUSLY don’t want to take the time to tell you how FUCKED up your life is and the choices you make are fucking BOGUS, on top of that who am I to do so? Why waste my time on something that degrades you and makes me feel like shit. I want to live my life HAPPY. HAPPY FOR NO REASON. Just blissful and heartwarming. I want to see the GOOD in every situation, every person. Have the positive shine through. Maybe ignorant a bit? Would it be that awful to do so? I have up until this moment lived my life on what is next? What is NOT enough now, and how something else will make me happy. Getting to that next goal and feeling EMPTY. Why because I didn’t enjoy the ride, I didn’t stop to take in the pure and sweet beauty and innocence of THIS MOMENT. So this is my plea, perhaps my warning, if you start that gossip bull shit drama, negative ass attitude on my life, your life or ANYONE IS THIS WORLD’s life, move the FUCK on. I AM DONE.
“What do you do all day?” all stay at home Mom’s or Dad’s have heard this, and bitched about this, and blogged about all the shit they DO do. Yet I have to ask the question to myself “What do I do all day?”, honestly nothing. Well I should say I complete NOTHING. Literally NOTHING. I am not saying there is a lack of effort, effort is there (most days). What I am trying to say is laundry is NEVER done, dishes are NEVER complete, bathrooms are NEVER clean, nothing is EVER organized and Pinterest moms LIE. Ok the Pinterest comment was a bit of a low blow, but COME ON, NO ONE is THAT organized, at least not being a stay at home mom and having 3 kids. I call BULL SHIT. I barely have time to take a shit or write this blog (like the months in between my posts weren’t a clue) seriously, you aren’t making origami napkins in your kids lunches or fucking Elmo pancakes every morning before school and if are you don’t have kids or you have a nanny. So stop posting bull shit on Pinterest and blogs that no one will EVER DO. Except all you cleaning ladies with sharpie removal tricks, that shit works and I NEED YOU in my life. I am not shitting you when I say I have literally 5 things I am doing at one time. Either my washer, dryer or dishwasher is on AT ALL times, someone has to pee or poop at any given moment, so that means when I am washing dishes I have to either have to chase then hold down an 18 month old as she screams and fights with all her might so I can wipe the smashed up pieces of caca all over her bottom or I have to chase a 3 year old that likes to sit on the toilet for 25 to 35 minutes as she serenades me to every song she knows. Or when I am folding laundry and one of them decides it’s a good time to take everything we own out of the pantry and pretend to cook with it, also one will drop the heaviest thing in there on their foot and I will then call my husband or mother or both and ask if a Dr appointment is needed. After I am NOT done folding the clothes and the whole family decides a Dr appointment is NOT needed, someone is now hungry. So I have to then ask or beg my 6 year old what she would like to eat and it will most likely be something with cheese, or she won’t be hungry. So I give them 3 choices and of course they all want something different. I will then makes all these choices and they will either not eat them or switch or change their minds. If by chance they do like what they are eating, I will sit down in just enough time to have them get up and I will be able to finish what they didn’t eat and put the dishes in the sink. I better hurry up, because someone has to shit again or the hair pulling will soon ensue. After my relaxing and healthy meal I made for myself, (that was sarcasm) it’s nap time, which would be awesome if baby love would go to sleep on her own, but she doesn’t so Frozen gets put on for the 45th time this week and FINALLY at about the the time when Elsa is about to sing her solo “Let it go”, she is asleep, so I can TRY to finish my coffee I warmed up 4 times since making it at 8 am. As I warm it up for the 5th time I start the dishes that piled up during breakfast and lunch, I get about 4 done when screaming comes from the living room. “SHE BIT ME” screams my 6 year old, GOD DAMNNIT, and now the baby is up SCREAMING, the microwave is beeping the water is running, MMA style fighting is going on in the living room, and the door bell rings, and enters my husband saying “what did you do all day?”
- Let me clarify as my life is not shit or shitty but rather it revolves around shit, poop, caca, poo, turds, yacca (in our house), etc. I suppose now looking back being a mother poo would be apart of my daily routine with changing diapers and all, but never would I never think I would become a POOP EXPERT. I know all colors, textures, styles, and forms. I know what is normal, what is not, when it happens and even if I didn’t know when my children will promptly announce it TO ANYONE AT ANYTIME. I am some what of a mutant in the fact that I can smell a load within a quarter mile radius (up to a mile if pregnant) and can distinguish between baby, animal or adult feces. Professor X would be impressed. Besides my mutant supermom powers, I also have a husband that thinks it’s hilarious to send me pictures of his fresh deuce through text messages. He also announces to me when he is going and how much or how many flushes it took to get it down. I hear the awesome sounds of my dear husband yelling “Why is baby’s poop black?”, “God damn it, I got shit on again!” “What the hell did you eat kid?” “Why is it my turn to change her?” All. The. Time. We even have silly names for the types such as “Mega turd”, “rabbit turds”, “baby turdies”, or “the Rhea”. I guess what shocks me most is that we all accept this as normal in our house. Without hesitation my kids will talk about how large their turd was or if they have a hard time getting it out or “Mom Dada has diarrhea again!” Wait! What?! How do you know this? Oh I know, because they hover outside the bathroom door as if Disney World were on the other side, but that is only when someone is in it. I can eat a cookie and change a butt without fail or dry heaving. I can eat dinner and talk about shit as if it were proper/appropriate dinner conversation. I don’t know how, why, or when all of this became our normal, I suppose it doesn’t matter, but I guess being a poop expert, in some weird way, is an important life “skill” to have, but sometimes it’s just plain shitty.
We live in Michigan and it’s February and it’s FUCKING COLD, UGH good lord I am SICK of it. The snow and the shoveling. You would think being life long Michiganders we would have a snow blower. Right? We have 3. Now ask me if any of them work? HELL TO THE NO. Why? I don’t know, something about the gas/oil mixture or spark plugs. To be honest I don’t know how to start the damn thing and even if I did I would probably trip and shred my leg or something horrific. So shoveling it is, but again that MOSTLY falls to the husband, yet I will bitch about it because I am the wife. It’s art form really. Bitching that is. Not all are good at it or understand it’s TRUE beauty. It is a rare and mysterious, like a griffin or a unicorn (in our house at least, fucking unicorns rule). Once a woman becomes a wife there is this excitement having a PARTNER to share well everything with. Chores shared. Bed shared. Closets shared. Life. Shared. Until you realize you really adopted a large man child that refuses to put his clothes in the basket, clean the toilet, and shares his flatulence with you then proceeds to giggle about it. As you adjust to your new SHARED life, you say to yourself I will just ask him to help out a bit more or just pick up the slack because you are in LOVE and while that works for a while and you are content, you add in children. Yeah let’s complicate the whole GD situation, add little midget home destroyers. Then one day, it comes out WORD VOMIT aka bitching. “I am NOT your mother pick up your damn clothes”, “How hard is it to take the trash out”, “How long does it take to shit?” (25 to 45 minutes for the average husband/father). At first I cringed at the word vomit that was spilling out of my mouth, but now I accept it as a side effect of a healthy marriage. If he can AFTER 5 YEARS still allow himself to leave his clothes on the floor, then I can allow myself to bitch about the snow I am not shoveling.
Well, I suppose I should just give some kind of into/warning. Umm this isn’t going to be a grammatically correct blog, I will swear and offend, so don’t bother trying to change it. HERE IS YOUR WARNING TO TURN AND RUN. FAST.
Welcome brave new readers, if you are interested I am a 30 year old mother of 3 girls, and wife to a brave/crazy man. I have come here to the world of blogging because I just needed something to do with my time other than be with my kids. As they consume most of it. I am not really sure where this will go or how, but what the fuck, why not everyone else has a GD blog why not me? RIGHT?! My postings will be random, funny, sad, WEIRD, awesome, and just plain ME. Enjoy… I think.