Let's Be Genuine

I try to keep this blog positive because it is less of a dumping ground for my brain and more of a record so for my children so they can remember their childhood. 

BUT, sometimes I am afraid that the blog starts to sound annoyingly like a Christmas card from Mrs. Perfect's family.  Those of you who read this blog know me or have known me in real life, and are probably painfully aware of my many imperfections.  

Our days don't always go smoothly.  It takes us at least an hour-and-a-half to get out the door to go anywhere in the morning, if I want to get everyone fed and dressed with clean bottoms and matching shoes (forget about matching socks.  I've given up caring about that.).

Sometimes I go two days without showering.  Sometimes I don't brush my teeth until after lunch.  Sometimes  I make poor food choices, like downing a handful of chocolate chips and two pieces of bread for lunch.

Our toilets always have pee on them.  Dirty underpants scatter about the house, the self-conscious ones hiding in shadowy corners.  My floors never stay clean.  My windows are worse than my floors.  And dusting?  I can't remember the last time I did some of that.

Sometimes, for no good reason, I just wake up grumpy.  My darling, intelligent, caring children from the day before suddenly transform into annoying little devils.

Sometimes I feel like I'm frantically shouting from a corner and no one is listening to me.

Sometimes I get really, really tired of little bodies pulling, pushing, touching, and laying on me.

Sometimes I am just so tired that my head hurts, my eyes, hurt, and my feet drag, and if I sit down on the couch for more than ten minutes I will likely fall asleep.

Sometimes I cringe when I hear the latest "Moooo-ooom!"  And sometimes I just want to go hide under my covers, or at least use the bathroom without someone walking in on me for goodness sakes.

Basically, I fail at a lot of things.  There are many nights I lay in bed being overridden with guilt for the things I should or should not have done, and the feeling that someone else, anyone else, would be doing a much better job than I am.  I yell at my children when they get out of bed, I scowl at my sweet husband, and I berate myself inwardly for not getting it right.

I don't feel like this often.  Most of the time I go to bed feeling satisfied and happy--glowingly happy--about having the opportunity to be at home with my children.  On these nights, I love my husband, I love my children, and I love my life, and sometimes I'm so happy I am surprised that daisies aren't sprouting from my forehead.

But that doesn't mean I don't have exhausting, emotionally-draining days.  And that's all I wanted to clarify.