Blunch is Served

The older members of our family love going out for breakfast. Saturday is not complete without blurry-eyed visions of pancakes and coffee. And I’ll admit, getting up for a breakfast out seems to be the classy thing to do. Pictures of celebrities eating on rustic patio furniture with their poodles in the early morning light fill my Pinterest feed along with recipes for French crepes. It’s a wonderful idea. But, no.

Why in heck would I get up on the only day I have off to eat breakfast food? The family insists it’s good bonding time—that we will have a brunch instead of an early morning meal. They see this as a compromise. The world is filled with crafters these days. Don’t get me wrong—I love hot glue guns with a burning (get it?) passion. I hosted a Christmas craft party this past holiday season and stuffed the house full with homemade pies wassail and cuts from my own shrubbery for wreaths. My sister and I will scroll through Pinterest for hours and actually do some of the activities with some level of success. I have those friends who fill their Instagram feed with that day’s Martha Stewart-worthy project. As I look at the newest outfit you made your adorable 2-year-old child from the scraps of hand-woven fabric you bought at a fair-trade market, I have to ask myself, “Aren’t you tired yet?” Parks and Recreation’s Leslie Knope is amazing, but she should be dead. That fictional woman who stays up all night cross-stitching and creating scrapbooks should have been laid to rest in a craft-encrusted casket by season three. We find ourselves living in a culture that glorifies the busy woman. She has a successful job, she’s a mother to three photogenic kids, she cooks exotic feasts for her family by the light of candles in Italian wine bottles. Oh, and her home is furnished completely out of mason jars and twine in order to show that she still makes time for her art. I want to be like that. The trouble is, I don’t want to be like that. You see, I don’t see “brunch” as a compromise. I want French crepes drowning in strawberries and the lady-like primness of delicate china tea cups on a Saturday. I just want them around noon. “Let’s eat brunch at 11:30 a.m.” is what I suggest. My family: “That’s called lunch, sweetheart.” No, lunch is around 1:00 or so. But I’ll concede it’s not quite brunch, according to the minds of normal adults. It’s blunch. [Blunch: noun. The joy of eating a chocolate-infused croissant at a realistic time of day.] Growing up, my sister and I realized that we both adore two things: style and sleep. We are blunchers. We decided to experiment with the idea that we are not alone—that there are other blunchers who enjoy the finer things in life but who have the honesty to say that achieving a stylish lifestyle should not be soul-sucking. Welcome to a place that enjoys beauty, taste, and fashion, but not at the price of missing an occasional day of Netflix-binging or sleeping until noon. Blunch is served.

#welcome #about #thoughts