A Victim of Poor Parenting

Although I do not have any children of my own to provide poor parenting to, I definitely have had some poor parenting performed on me recently. Mom and Dad may say otherwise, buuuuuut I would like to give everyone else the opportunity to decide for themselves.

You know you are getting "poor-parented" (yes that's a verb) when you are 20 years old and you come home from school at BYU and you get moded from your job that you thought was set in stone and then your parents get out the whip and make you do excrutiating manual labor even after you find out that you got into the accounting program.

Manual labor job number 1:

I got tricked into doing this project. Mom made it sound like it was going to be really fun because I would get to pick the color of the paint and redecorate the bathroom and make it look really good.

Well, nobody mentioned the part about wallpaper being the worst thing in the world to take off. I spent three days with that lame steamer in a sweltering bathroom....painful. And that was only the beginning.

It turns out that painting a bathroom all by myself with no help...isn't as fun as I thought it would be. Today I came home from working with Dad all day and then painted the bathroom until 11 o'clock at night. Oh, and the job isn't done yet. I still have to finish painting the ceiling white. All I know is that it's not going to look too wonderful because I'm not Michaelangelo.

Now if you don't think that is poor parenting then take this into consideration.

Manual labor job number 2:

Taking this...

And turning it into this...

Keep in mind that all of these files don't get up and walk themselves across the street from Public Storage into Dad's office. I have to load up all the files into my car and then carry them up to Dad's office on a dollie in some more sweltering heat. Then I sit at the shredder for 8 hours a day and shred and shred until my poor little fingers can't shred anymore. This week alone I've shredded over 70 trash bags full of little shreds. Oh and not to mention, my back KILLS from lifting boxes of files and then sitting upright at the shredder all day long. Oh and painting the ceiling in the bathroom isn't helping the cause either. If I didn't already get back problems from Grandma Fitz then I'll probably get a few back problems from this Summer.

My life is rough, I know.

Mom won't even let me take a break from painting to go visit my sister Kari for a day, and Dad won't give a break from shredding to go to my nephew Weston's birthday party.

This is how I feel at the end of the day...

Now you can all be the jury and make the judgment call of whether I am a victim of poor parenting or not.