I may not do tipsy –fine, that’s a lie, okay I do- but when I do, I do it well.
There are many motivational blogs out there, that tell you that you need to be ‘this and that’ to be anything at all. Remember the ‘70’s? To be cool, you needed to be either a feminist or gay. The ‘80’s? well, you needed a cell-phone and a job in Wall Street. The ‘90’s was all about the ‘dot-com’s’ and how fast you could download porn – I know from experience on that one. Hit the ‘Naughtie’s’ and we had to be ‘Zen’ with everything. It was all ‘Yoga’, Lululemon, starbucks and recycling. We tried to ‘Save the world’ by trying to marry the fact we owned three wide-screen TV’s with the fact we had a Prius.
It’s all shit.
Now, we have reached… whatever decade we are meant to be in and it’s all, ‘Skinny is the new sexy’, or ‘Strong is the new skinny’ or… do you know what? I frankly have no idea on who I am meant to be now. Am I an earth mother who goes in for organic? Perhaps I am advocate for causes in mental health. Oh, I know… I am ‘Techno-blogger-earth-runner-mother-thingie-who llikes a night out’. Actually, I am just exhausted.
I cannot live up to expectations on me. But, guess what? I don’t want to. I am not limited by conventions.
I am the person who decides on a whim to run for Parent governor of the schools PTA – just because I know I can.
I am the person who goes out without any make-up and with my hair a mess – because I know that stuff doesn’t matter.
I make fun of myself, because I know I am the funniest person I know.
I get drunk at parties because I know the people I have chosen to be friends will look after me and will have fun teasing me in the morning.
I go out for the morning school run in my running gear and pick up my kid in the afternoon in the same running gear and I don’t care I stink.
I like to study stuff only because it is interesting; and everything is interesting.
It’s great I am mediocre at lots of things and a specialist at nothing.
I like that my idea of love is that I give my husband my hot-water bottle, whilst I wait in a cold house for the kettle to boil so I can fill his.
I love the fact my kid thinks I am silly.
I think it’s even better he tells me things I never knew and he’s nine.
I like the fact his friends want to come over for play-dates to our house.
I think it’s awesome that our house is always a mess, but my son’s friends still don’t care.
I pick up the Jelly Baby from the floor even if it’s past the two-second rule and still give it to my kid.
I let my kid play video-game’s to get some quiet time.
I am able to teach my friends new things, but that I am compelled to listen when they talk.
I like being a ‘Bad Mom’
I am five pounds heavier than this time last year and it’s great.
I went to University and I still know nothing and I am proud of it.
When I run it has to be through mud.
I get smarter the more I drink (alcohol not green tea).
I giggle during yoga.
I was kicked out of the girl-guides.
My son has theological discussions about the ‘non-existance’ of God and I am proud of him.
I like our little family questions everything.
I serve frozen-oven-heated chicken nuggets for dinner and that’s okay.
I giggle when the word ‘Poop’ is mentioned.
When I went to the Royal Opera House to see a concert, the only smart clothes I had were my running gear.
My boobs sag and my tum and bum are lumpy, but hey ,I am forty and that’s okay.
I like the fact that I am happy to admit that.
I run a 12minute mile on a run because I was distracted by a squirrel. Squirrels are cool and worth stopping for.
TUTU’s are acceptable running gear.
Being unable to type ‘acceptable’ is funny.
Having to use the delete key twenty times to type the above sentence is funnier
I love automatic spell-checker.
I don’t edit what I write.
I love all my friends, even the ones I haven’t met.
My first love was a girl, but the 1990’s got in the way.
I love Doctor Who and I own four sonic screwdrivers
I want a four slot toaster for my birthday.
I have just realised I talk some real shit on a Friday night.
I wonder why anyone wants to read this crap.
Hands up who get’s the picture? I am normal. I am in my forties and frankly that’s okay. I have the advantage on those ‘twenty-something’ nubile-nympthettes. I know I talk shit and I am don’t care if anyone cares. I am at the moment, lying in bed as my husband tries to coax a kid to sleep. There are paint-tester slodges on the wall. The heating doesn’t work unless there is a ‘l’ in the month. (yes, it did take me a few minutes to figure that one out). My kid is too quirky for ‘normal’ school to cope and I am glad – he is also in the next room watching Youtube video’s we are only provisionally vetting, so he will probably grow up to be a psychopath (or the next programmer of a billion dollar game).
The fact is all of those Meme’s on Facebook are crap. Strong isn’t the new sexy. Self-something is the new sexy. I know because I am it. You only have to look past the fleece onesie, to find that out.
P.S. I am also under the impression that this post had a point to it, but frankly now I have written it, I am not sure what that was.