Honestly in Blogging

I have begun to appreciate the honesty that can be found in the blogs of people I know (or even don't know.)  As Facebook is seeming to run its course, the pretty-perfect facade that is created by the ever-positive profiles is growing old  This is not to say it's avoidable...I really don't think it is. Who doesn't want to paint a pretty good picture of his/her own life? Who hasn't un-tagged bad pictures, kept quiet during rough times, and been over-the-top excited during the good ones?  It's just normal, I think.

However, in reading the blogs of friends or even friends of friends, it's refreshing to see how alike we all really are.  Not that we share the same tastes, but that we all deal with life's day-to-day struggles.  We are driven crazy by our kids.  We suffer from infertility.  We've thought/said/written terrible things and want to take them back.  We don't like everyone.  We fight with our spouses.  We make mistakes.  We're human. 

As I sit here, the kids are eating lunch.  Cucumbers, asparagus, and BBQ pizza, followed up by yogurt stars.  We've had a great day.  Still, the kids aren't dressed yet and neither am I.  The dishes are done, but the laundry isn't.  I look a mess.  I have eaten nothing but Swedish Fish today.  But my toes are painted and my shirt smells nice.  I'm not perfect at all.  Neither are my kids, my husband, our house, our cars.  We do well in some areas and fail in others.  But we do what we can and we do it simply.  I do things I regret and I've cried out of exhaustion.  But I wouldn't change a thing. 

I do wish I was that perfect mom.  You know the one...she always looks great, her kids are dressed to the nines (in clothes obviously folded as soon as the dryer finished its cycle), perfectly mannered and well-behaved.  She smells like soap.  I'm not her.  Case-in-point:  Saturday morning, Patrick and Adam were enjoying some superhero cartoon that I probably had no interest in watching.  Instead, I was in the bathroom putting on my makeup.  I heard Patrick talking to Adam.  It went like this:

P: Daddy, can I say "shit"?
A: Absolutely not.  You know that's a bad word.
P: But Mom says it, you know.
A: Your mom says that word?  She knows better than that. 
P: Yes, she said it when she was driving.  And she didn't say she was sorry. 

Cringing, I walked out of the bathroom.  I read Adam's lips, "Catie...your mouth."  I wanted to tell him that it was only because I almost hit the basketball goal on the way out of the driveway and it had been a truly terrible day up until that point, but it wouldn't have mattered.  I was guilty.  I mouthed back, "I know.  Sorry."  Case closed.  No awards for me that day. 

Less recently, while on vacation, I was watching Adam in the lake with the boys.  While one was riding on his back, he had the other one on his hip.  The kids were squealing, hanging on tight.  They were all laughing (Patrick very nervously, as the water scares him a little.)  I was sitting on the dock, reading, and as I looked over at Adam, I thought to myself that, if I wasn't married to him, I would wonder what it was like to be married to someone like that.  It made me so proud of him.  I did well for myself, despite my occassional trucker's mouth.  While eating dinner one night, I happened to tell Adam what I thought on vacation.  He just laughed a little and said, "I'm really happy to hear that.  Sometimes, when we're out in public, I look at you and think I married out of my league."  Sigh.  Classic Adam.  Good answer, honeybee.  Good answer.

As of today, we're back to one income.  Our disposable income may as well be non-existent, and I am most bummed about this.  I don't have a job lined up (not officially, anyway), nor do I have any immediate plans to get licensed (out of my control).  I'm sleep deprived because our youngest sprouted two new teeth over the weekend and I desperately want to move.  The boys have finished lunch and are now fighting over the canopy to a flotation device.  We're so not perfect.  But we're good.  Normal.  Happy.