Why I C*B*F

Why I C*B*F

Caution: Naughty Words!!

It’s Monday evening at the end of a public holiday. Waitangi Day in fact. If I’m going to be honest here, I don’t give a flying fuck about what today represents or who shafted who, I care that I get a day off work. Paid work, rather. 

Right now I’m sick of hearing shit-stirrers bleat on about how our Prime Minster is a douche (I don’t think he is) or how we should have spent $26m on anything other than changing our national flag (yeah I agree), or how the country is screwed now we’ve signed onto the TPPA. What. The. Fuck. Shove those opinions up your arse and stop trying to convert us.  Facebook isn’t the place for it. If you believe that strongly, join the bloody Green Party.

So back to me. Two out of three kids are in bed, I’ve watched tonight’s Shortland Streets episode (I fricking knew Victoria did it!!) and rise to do my weekly baking for lunches.

I Can’t Be Fucked.

What the hell is wrong with me? When did I become such a negative, grumpy bitch lacking motivation to do the basic womanly duties?

I started off the weekend ok. Saturday night was pretty damn good, from what I remember. The two other RAD mums and our other halves hit the piss kid-free (this is not a regular occurrence btw). Sunday morning not so good thanks to a mega hangover. I’ve been kidding myself that even though I don’t look almost 40 (so, so hard to write that number) my head/body says otherwise. I’ve got to curb my drinking binges – pre-dinner beer and margarita, then during dinner frozen margarita and more beer. Then onto a pub for two more beers before the loooong walk back to our sober driver’s car (thanks Jay!). That was my downfall on Saturday night. Beer. I don’t like looking like a priss by sippping a glass of wine in a ladylike way, even though I do love me a pinot gris. I like to swig my beer back and move onto the next.

So Sunday until 2pm was pretty much a write off. I’m glad my hubby and boys did their own thing, although I did get talked into having a swim in our little pool (thigh deep on adults). I hate when the water is rather cold, and you start to kneel down only to get a shot of frozen vag. I thought twice about getting out but my boys love Mum having a swim, so grit my teeth and sank down onto my bum getting a second shot of frozenness under boob. Holy bloody shit, how do these kids do it!

Two hours later Mum is starvy as heck! Let’s get pizza for dinner, cos I sure as heck ain’t cooking tonight. The 11yo navigates his way through the pizza website amazingly for once, and we decide to pick it up at eat at a park. In theory this is a good idea, but when the kids would rather play than eat things get angry quick. Ok, Mum gets angry quick. Remember, I’ve had a precious morning and not in the mood for crap today. Negotiations in place, they eat two bits of pizza each while being pushed on the swings.  Thank god it’s almost bed time. I force myself to stay up respectively longer than my boys then slink off to bed.

It’s Monday morning and I have every intention of being fucked today, but really, it’s a public holiday so there is no need. I do the mandatory three loads of washing – I hate with a passion hanging out towels and underwear/socks so these go in the dryer, the rest on the line.  It’s 8.30am and we jump in the car for a day out of town visiting family and doing fun shit. Yea, it starts raining. But I’ve got a coffee so I’m pretty good to go and can semi be fucked.  We get home mid-afternoon and I spy this huge mountain of three washing baskets staring at me, not counting the loads I did this morning, and that feeling creeps back. UGH, I can’t be fucked again!

I start to fold towels. Then I get easily distracted by making ramps for bike riding kids, then back to the washing pile, then out to the kitchen to make a grocery list. Back to folding daycare clothes, out to listen to the neighbours moaning about the teen dickhead nextdoor revving the shit out of his car in our “respectable neighbourhood”. But it’s ok, cos the old guy bought me tomatoes out of his garden. Those will be awesome when I pull finger and start back on rabbit food again.

 

Hubby takes one 3yo grocery shopping so I allocate vacuuming to the 11yo while the other 3yo watches Paw Patrol. I have to thank the makers of Paw Patrol, because they are awesome free babysitters right now while my boys like their programme. This gives me a chance to look for my motivation, and to be ready for the week ahead.

So sometimes it’s ok to say “I C.B.F”. It’s ok to flick your kid $5 to buy morning tea at the school canteen cos you can’t be fucked baking until tomorrow. It’s ok to sit down and finish the last piece of cream bun cos you can’t be fucked eating fruit. It’s ok to whip your bra off and put on a loose singlet cos you hate your milkshakes being restricted on a muggy evening. It’s ok to flick through Facebook or Instagram and roll your eyes at all those perfectly posed photos of skinny bitches with perfect teeth. And it’s ok to hit the sack at 9pm, giving your hubby “the look” cos you really can’t be fucked being “romantic”. Seriously, do I LOOK like I want any of that tonight?!? NO!

But it’s ok. Cos tomorrow is another day. And as Constance Hall blogs “I promise to be more wifey tomorrow”.  It’s one weekend. I will be fucked tomorrow. Your fuck will always come back. And if it doesn’t then I’d suggest you make an appointment to see someone.


ETA: fuck = motivation, for those still living at home with mum.

Essentials for a Night OTP

Essentials for a Night OTP  

Written by a light-weight Rad Mum

 

Like many a mum or dad, there was once upon a time where we could stay out late, drinking 6 different varieties of alcoholic beverage and wake up ready to crush it the next day.  We could binge drink the heck out of a Saturday night and remained unscathed, ready to work a full 8-hour shift the following day.

But here I am bordering on my 32^nd birthday and I am Light-weight as fuck!

I have all intentions of getting shaky this weekend, for which I have planned a Birthday Dinner. 

There will be Beersies and Margi’s, at this stage I am not confident I know how much will be consumed.  In saying that at my age, I can’t take any chances for fear that I will get so shit-faced and pay for it over the next… 7 days at minimum!

Yes, I am that out of practice.  I can’t even finish my whole bottle of Peroni with dinner these days.

But if there is one thing that I am good at – it is giving it a bloody good go, this Birthday Dinner is no exception!

Below is my ‘Get better mummy’ Plan to ensure I recover as best as possible, because I know full well that parts of my Liver and Kidneys will die this Saturday night. (Jesus Christ, why am I doing this to myself?!?!)

Step 1.  Pre-hydrate and increase your nutritionals!   By this I mean, drink a shit load of water and eat well day before and day of.

Step 2.  Warn your husband/Boyf/Partner that you are likely to be ill by the end of the night, and that if the time comes, please stand by to hold hair back.  Or at the very least do your best to pony tail the shit out of my hair, be a trooper and do us a solid!

Step 3.  Organise indoor activities for the next day for your children, their fave movies, snacks, toys, colouring, playdough.  The works – just get it organised and prepare for the assault.

Step 4.  Strategically place a large vessel of Water, Make-up wipes and painkillers on your bedside table.  Trust me, this game is not for rookies, you need every little bit of help you can get.  Even if it almost makes you gag, drink the damn water and take the damn drugs… just do it!

 

Step. 5  Plan all meals for the next day, make it user friendly and make it simple.  Don’t go committing to a Roast dinner with all the trimmings.  You will just end up breaking your husband’s heart when you don’t deliver.

Step 6.  Have electrolyte Beveys at the ready upon your return home, make sure they are a flavour you like, because as you know, the minute you have something that reminded you of the time you turned your stomach inside out after your school ball after party, you will just be setting yourself up for a spew-fest.

Step 7. And because it is my Birthday, I have asked my husband to forgive me for how much of an idiot I am going to make of myself by snoring my ass off and unattractively bed hogging whilst cuddling his pillows and making him almost consider sleeping on the couch. (ALMOST)

 

Step 8.  Go to bed when husband tells you to.  Make a conscious effort and commit to listening to him when he says “go to bed, you’re pissed”.  He would have already accepted the fact that you may get too shit-faced to ‘give it up’, he will be missing out tonight.  He knows this and he has accepted this possibility, so be nice to him and listen when he tells you to not have that last drink and get in the goddamn taxi!

Step 9.  Have your bed clothes ready to change into, and don’t make it a full on assault course to get into.  In fact, sleep in nothing.  When you are well written off, if you even so much as try getting your foot into that leg hole of your fave PJ’s you may find yourself with a ripe egg on your forehead from where you fell and hit your head on the corner of your bedroom bookcase.

Step 10. Don’t drink so much that you get legless.  You can get Wastey as heck, but don’t get #whitegirlwasted.  You want to keep any ounce of self-respect that you currently have, you don’t want to become ‘that-guy’.

I can’t guarantee that any of this will actually work, but like my boss always says “Plan for the worst and be pleasantly surprised!”
Somehow I don’t actually think he was talking about getting OTP

Cheers and see you when I am 32 - JRad