I love Hubby and Hubby loves me. We are best friends, and we know everything about each other inside and out; we've been together nearly 7 years and we're still madly in love-but sometimes Hubby gets a little delusional.
See, Hubby likes to pretend that he's married to some freak hybrid mixture between Donna Reid, Super Woman, and Marilyn Monroe...and of course he occasionally gets disappointed when reality SMACKS him. He doesn't usually say anything, he's kind beyond measure to my flaws, but there is no mistaking the irritated look he gets sometimes when he-say-finds his work shirt balled up in the dirty laundry rather than clean and ready to wear.
Hey, I'm disappointed too. I would love to be a sex kitten who keeps an immaculate house and raises perfect, quiet children on two hours of sleep. Nothing would make me happier. Unfortunately, I'm not that woman. I don't think that woman exists, no matter how every man secretly wishes she did and no matter how much every woman would want to be her if it were possible.
Or maybe that's just something I say to comfort myself; still I know that I personally will never be Super DoMarilyn.
You want the real naked truth? This is what my actual house looks like:
Why yes, those are nearly empty soda bottles (soda-or "life blood" as I often call it-is what keeps me alive these days)...and yes those are the dishes from last night's dinner still sitting there...and I don't know if you can see the carpet but it is DESTROYED. Like Act of God destroyed. Yep, that's my toddler drinking a bottle while she's watching TV in her high chair in only a diaper. In fact, my children will often wear their pajamas the entire day-and when it's 84 degrees in our house in the middle of the night diapers are pajamas as far as I'm concerned. What did the kids have for breakfast? Bananas and toast. It's better than Twinkies, so it's good in my book. For dinner we are having microwaved soup out of a can and left over cornbread...and as always kids will Yum It Up or go hungry-this ain't a diner and I ain't no short order cook. I'm just that sensitive to their feelings.
Sure, I'll pick up as needed-believe me it's needed multiple times a day-and IF (that's a big capital I F) I have a moment I will try to do the dishes, do the laundry, or vacuum but unless all the planets are aligned it's probably not going to happen on the same day.
And yeah, I'm an unschooler but some days it just all goes out the window. I like to call these "private study days" but basically that just means "here's a stack of books, now please let Mommy have some peace".
I never wear makeup. I've spent entire days in my robe. 50% of my pants fall under the categories of sleepwear and/or work out clothes, and I wear those 90% of the time. Sometimes it'll be two full days before I get my next shower-and that goes for the kids too. Especially in winter.
That's life. I'm not Maryiln Super-Reid, I'm just human. Some days I have the nagging worry-wort-itis of Marge Simpson, the temper of Lois Wilkerson (the Malcom in the Middle Mom), and the style and housekeeping skills of Roseanne. That's just who I am. I think that's who we all are sometimes.
Don't get me wrong-I do my very best every day and sometimes, in rare moments, a little dash of Donna can shine right through. Most of the time though, we all have to live with someone a lot less peachy keen.
And you know what? In the end I'm pretty okay with that...and everyone else can learn to deal.
So now that you know what a wreck I am maybe you'll tell me-ladies, what's your Mom confession?