Realism

I don’t get much time to read blogs…which is a bummer, but that’s life. Over the past few months I have caught a few posts here and there, though. And I gotta tell ya, what I read was a little unnerving. These posts (all from different Mom Bloggers) had a common thread. Each of them painted this sort of “perfect life” picture in their posts.

“I sipped coffee this morning from my porch in a $5,000 Pottery Barn chair with the cool breeze blowing through my freshly washed and flat-ironed hair while my children sat quietly playing with organic wooden toys (because we don’t do plastic.) Then I came into my immaculately clean home and had every affluent mother this side of the Mississippi over for coffee cake (my award-winning recipe) and meaningful conversation. Then we went shopping and scored cart-fulls of Missoni for Target for next to nothing because we’re so amazing. What a great morning!”

Ok, I may have been paraphrasing there but SERIOUSLY?! That’s not real. Or at least, that’s not real to me. My reality is waking up at 3am to a teething toddler screaming at her door because she wants her Mommy. Still half-asleep, I manage to not fall down the stairs while collecting her and all her crap that she *must* have while sleeping and carry both of our tired souls back to my bed, where my husband glares at me for the 6549684351th time because “I MUST stop bringing that baby to bed.” I give him a look that says, “Shove that right up your ass, Mister” and then snuggle my baby until exactly 6:47am when my other toddler comes into our room. By this point, husband is gone and as such, she climbs into bed and all three of us fall back asleep…warm and snuggly. That is, until I wake up and immediately know (based on the amount of sunlight in the room), that we have overslept and are officially running late. “SHIIIIIIIIIIIIIIT!!!” I say as I jump out of bed and hurriedly rush downstairs with a giggling child under each arm football-style. My nearly-3-year-old promptly starts telling me over and over again that “Shit is NOT a good word to say, Mommy. You need to go to time out” as she manages to get underfoot and in my way of every single step I take. Nearly tripping over her, I somehow manage to get breakfast on the table for both of them (no doubt something processed and unhealthy) and yell , “Eat your breakfast!” while I’m frantically packing two lunches. Rather than eat, they are fighting over whatever toy is most coveted at the current moment, complete with hitting and biting, both resulting in crying and the need for consolation. Meanwhile, both dogs have jumped the fence so I run outside (in my nightgown) to wrangle them back into the yard covered in mud and nasty-smelling pond water as I scold them for being so unruly. As I come inside, both girls start yelling at the dogs using the same words I just used. Its now that I realize I probably shouldn’t have said “You’re a terrible dog and I’m going to give you away” because while I know that’s not true, the girls don’t. Because they don’t understand sarcasm. I’m too busy and rushed to REALLY contemplate the error of my ways (or explain it to my crying toddler who thinks Jackson won’t be here when she gets home from school), because its now 8:54, school starts in 6 minutes, and none of us are dressed. Flying up the stairs, I brush my teeth while examining the darkening circles under my eyes and gray hairs that have sprouted unbecomingly in my hairline. I don’t bother to brush my hair (a ponytail or some semblance of a bun will do) and as I throw on something that *might* be clean, I am actually thankful for the two minutes of peace I had while brushing my teeth….because I locked the gate at the bottom of the stairs so the girls couldn’t follow me up. I grab clothes for them that match most of the way and fly back down the stairs. I gulp my coffee on the way to school, telling the girls things like, “If you take your shoes off ONE MORE TIME I’m going to lose it!” and “Stop eating your lunch! Its for LUNCH…not breakfast!” As soon as we get there, I’m the calm and cool (if not collected) Mother of two girls 13 months apart who *certainly* has no problem handling this whole parenthood thing. I stride to their classrooms with an air of confidence…proud that my two Littles are dressed, dry, clean, and (for the most part) put-together. After dropping them off with their teachers, I retreat to my car, drive home, and debate sitting in the driveway until its time to pick them up…just to hear nothing but silence for four hours. Begrudgingly, I drag myself out of the car and head inside to clean up breakfast dishes (the dogs have already chowed the uneaten food…off the table, I might add), do last night’s dinner dishes, pick up toys that have been laying around for days, and try (unsuccessfully) to get dry erase marker off my gorgeous turquoise accent wall without taking the paint off. Then there’s laundry, the bathrooms (that reek of pee because of a kid potty training…don’t act like yours didn’t), and my always-messy office that constantly needs straightening. Before I’m finished with all of that, its time to pick the girls up and everything starts all over again.

This, Mommy Bloggers, is realism. This is real life. Dirty dishes, messy homes, gulped coffee, unfixed hair, badly-behaving dogs (that are still loved anyway), children who scorn their parents’ bad language, marker on the walls, unmade beds…this is truth. There is no truth in your stories of Pottery Barn porch chairs and sipped coffee and cart-fulls of Missoni. To quote Kate Gosselin (whom I DO NOT endorse), “It might be a crazy life, but its OUR life.” Although the mother behind that quote is not one I’d like to imitate, her statement is true. There is nothing wrong with having a crazy life. There is nothing wrong with spotty carpets stained from drippy sippy cups, grown-out highlights (and a few gray hairs), cheap furniture, and Mommy Meet-ups over happy hour drinks instead of your (probably not so award-winning) coffee cake. Claim your lives, Moms. Own them. Embrace them. Love them. Stop painting a picture of total cookie cutter falsifications to make yourselves look perfect and the rest of us look and feel like neglectful losers who are terrible parents because our kids play with plastic toys. If nothing else, I’m sure your readers will get a laugh out of your mishaps…Lord knows my life is full of Mommy-flub-ups that I look back and laugh at. And YOU! You will laugh at your mishaps too (and if you don’t…you should.) Your portrait of your perfect world is (in the words of Cher from Clueless) “a full-on Monet. Its gorgeous from far away but when you get up close it’s a big ole mess.” Please, don’t be a Monet. Just be real. I promise we’ll love you anyway. Dark circles, cheap clothes, un-pedicured toes and all. We love you…and your kids who say, “Mommy said shit a bunch this morning. She needs a time out.”