What would REALLY happen if we moms finally got fed up, threw in our apron, and picketed in our front yard?
First of all, yes, I actually own an apron, and no- it wasn’t a misguided gift from my husband because he thinks I should be in the kitchen more that resulted in me giving him a swift dickpunch. I bought it myself. It’s adorable!
I’ve considered it, the whole strike thing, but the fact that throwing in my apron would only result in more laundry for me keeps me from following through. Lately, though, my frustration level has been mounting.
Don’t just assume it’s monthly hormones making me more irritable, or that it’s “Devil Vagina Magic” at work again– what’s at work is childhood and big kid (aka my husband) shenanigans. SHENANIGANS, I SAY!
Over the years, I think I’ve developed a pretty high tolerance to bullshit. Whining still makes me want to scream and tear out my hair, but bullshit? Meh. No biggie. I pick my battles, I try my best not to yell, I don’t really mind doing housework, and I truly don’t think I ask much from the other able-bodies in this household. Clearly, I am the only one who thinks so.
It started with the adult sized poo in the toilet. No, I don’t mean it looks like it came from an adult; it is the SIZE of an ACTUAL adult. The poo itself didn’t bother me; when ya gotta go, ya gotta go! It was the fact that SOMEONE (not naming any names here) didn’t think flushing it was necessary. And then someone ELSE (still not naming any names here) decided that peeing on an adult sized poo was a better option than flushing and THEN peeing. And then WHO THE HELL KNOWS WHO (yeah, I’m looking at you) throw some more toilet paper on top, just for good measure. Apparently I need to be checking the toilets on a regular basis, because by the time I found this vile concoction, it had fermented. I’M SORRY! I’M DRY HEAVING, TOO! Oh, and then it clogged and sat there- so that whole area of the house had a LOVELY fermented peepoo smell for the rest of the day.
WHAT THE FUCK, FAMILY? IS IT REALLY THAT HARD TO FLUSH YOUR HORRIFICALLY LARGE SHIT? IS IT REALLY MORE PREFERABLE TO PEE ON SAID SHIT? COME THE HELL ON!
Deep breaths. I’m sorry. I’ll control myself.
The next morning, I went to pour myself a bowl of cereal, and it was dust. All dust. Nothing left. I don’t even eat the “good” cereal (according to children) and STILL, they inhale it and leave me with a box of disappointment. SON OF A FFFFFFFFFFFFFF…….RUDE!!! UGGHHHH I’LL JUST HAVE FRUIT, I GUESS!
I really tried! Honest, I did! And then I walked into the living room to find Rice Krispies all over the couch but no child to be found.
How long do we have to be patient, tolerant mommy? When is it acceptable to become Mean BitchyForGoodReason Mommy? When does it become completely understandable to throw in our aprons, make some stupid rhymey protest sign, and picket on the front lawn? What would they do without us? Surely they’d throw in the very last towel since no one does laundry but us in AT MOST 2 days because we are their everything and they need us to properly run a household and they will swear to change and life will be blissful and not full of sharted underwear and cereal dust, so what does that all mean? When should we mamas finally strike??
Now. RIGHT NOW! I’m done! No more cooking, no more cleaning, no more picking up after them, no more nothin’! I am a MOM ON STRIKE!
Of course, I’m totally kidding. As much as I cannot STAND some of the shit they do, I kind of like that they depend on me so much, and I know that shit won’t last forever, so I am capitalizing while I still can!
Did I just give this blog a cheesy ass ending? Damn straight I did!
What's that smell? A lot of pants on fire. pic.twitter.com/bVK0FnJgeB
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I have so many wonderful memories from my years as a parent, but my new favorite is my son gagging while cleaning up his own crusty pee from around the base of his toilet.
Mom life pic.twitter.com/7CaEaYM6XE
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