Why a blog?

I give up, easily.
Anything. Everything.
Because of a lack of confidence.

People won't like me, laugh at me, think I'm stupid.
That is why my entire life I hid away, in dark clothes.
Black, dark blue or grey.
Anything to make me invisible.

I never used make-up in high school because I didn't know how.
My hair was always the same because I had no idea what to do with it (ponytail, tightly pulled back, in case you're curious).

When I was 18 I got married and I wanted a change.
I wanted the real me to come out.
But I still had no clue how.

At 26 I started this blog.
So that I wouldn't give up, wouldn't forget where I was going.

This is my journey, feel free to walk it with me, every step of the way.
All my failures, all my mistakes.
But also my winnings, my happy moments and my bliss.
I'll be honored to have you with me.

Modern man

PersonalPosted by Fashiondisaster Tue, November 08, 2016 21:15:48
It's time,
To write a post,
About my son,
When you see pictures of me,
It's mostly my daughter,
Who poses with me,
Because he's a bit camera shy,
Like most men,
I guess.

But when it comes to our home,
The household and stuff,
He's really a modern man,
He will suggest to vacuum,
Without me even implying it,
When I'm folding laundry,
He'll ask me,
If he can help.

My daughter is a different story,
She hates doing chores,
And is a champ,
In leaving things everywhere,
All around the house,
Even in the toilet room.

I'll find her dirty socks,
Next to the toilet,
Inside out,
Of course,
And it amazes me,
Why would you take off your socks,
When you're on the toilet?

My son's room can be messy too,
Don't get me wrong,
Laundry spread across the floor,
Little plastic balls,
That he shot against the wall,
With his air gun,
But when I put the laundry basket back,
He cleans it up.

When I ask him to clean up his room,
He'll do it,
And it will be clean,
My daughter will mope,
For what seems like an hour,
Get started eventually,
And then do it in a way,
That it's done quickly,
But not thoroughly,
Remember stuffing things under the bed?
That's her.

Two kids,
Same parents,
Totally different,
And still,
So the same,
Longing for approval,
And always kind,
When they need to be,
Because don't get me wrong,
My daughter is a sweetheart,
But from girls,
You kind of expect them to be that.

Are the sloppy ones,
The ones that sit in front of the tv,
For hours,
Playing games,
Climbing trees,
Both my kids do that,
But when I need help,
With anything,
My son is the first one to turn to,
He'll carry my bags,
After shopping for groceries,
Making me feel very small,
When a boy that is 11,
Carries both bags,
Leaving you your hands free,
With all the people you pass staring,
Making me feel like it's child abuse.

But he won't let me take the bags,
Not even one,
He needs them both,
For balance,
And when I try to take them from him,
He'll pull away,
"No, mom",
In a calm voice,

I didn't raise him like this,
I never told him to carry my bags,
Or to ask me if he could help,
With anything,
He just mopped the living floor,
I didn't ask,
Or imply,
He just did,
Because he loved doing it,
And once he gets started,
He finds it hard to stop.

He deserves this blog,
These words,
Because he's a modern man,
And I can't wait to see how he keeps evolving.

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