Wednesday, June 29, 2011


I, on occasion, stumble upon a blog or read a post and I want to comment in all caps: LIARRRRRR!!!!!  (I don't, because I am very, very, very, mature and  well behaved.)

I think, oh look they are at SAHM like me. Then I see their posts:
"Today I scrubbed the floors, made homemade yogurt, tilled the garden, repainted the living room, taught the baby how to speak Chinese, and made a nutritious balanced meal all my children ate with beautiful smiles on their faces.  Life is wonderful, perfect, fantastic.  Did I mention I sewed this entire outfit from the hair I pulled out of my hairbrush?  Smile!" The radiant never-ending joy and happiness shooting out of the screen is blinding.

Barf.  I call bull&*%$.

I don't want to read your blog about your make believe life.  Where's your truth?  Where's the nitty gritty? That's what I want.  I want to read about moms doing the best they can, who have crappy days but have great days too.  Like me.  I want to read about how having children is a blessing beyond blessings, but sometimes it's no fun.  How you can love your life, but hate the dried snot on your shoulder. 

The problem with women who paint their lives as perfect is it's hard to digest. It can't be real. Seeing all their polished, perfect days is boring. You know what's real to me?  That "oh %$#&" feeling you get when you realize you forgot to lay the meat out to defrost.  Snot bubbles. Leaky diapers. A pile of laundry.  Wrestling a crayon from a one year old.  Toys in every crevice of the couch. Headaches. Doubt. Joy. Love. Pride. Everything mixed in together.  All the beautiful, and all the yuck.

You want my truth? Here goes . . .

My daughter, my beautiful daughter.  She knows her shapes, her colors, how to count to 20, and all of her ABC's.  She is at least as stubborn as me.  She is strong willed and intelligent. She won't quit picking on her brother.  She lights up my life, she is everything to me. 

My beautiful son.  My son with the winning smile and sunny personality. He helped me to realize that after all the years of thinking all I wanted was a daughter - what I really needed was a son.

They are my truth.  They are my good days and bad days!

There are many chapters in the story of my days. Some days are well oiled cogs, they are great days, days I look forward to. Sometimes its a hurricane of toys in the living room, mommy has a headache, no I don't know what's for dinner, is it bedtime yet days.

I think that's why I go into automatic eye roll-snort mode when I see Miss Perfection and her Brood of Merry Well Behaved Offspring.  Because I know what it's like to be in the trenches of motherhood.  I don't want a fake picture of your life, delusional nice blogging lady, show me the other side.  Show me the diaper you found under the couch, especially since you have no idea how old it is. Tell me how confused you are by your potty training disasters.  Tell me about your crazy, beautiful life!  Tell me how hard it is, but how awesome it is.  Don't leave anything out!  

Tell me the truth. Tell me your truth!


  1. My floors haven't been scrubbed in well over a month. And by "scrubbed" I mean, "run over it with the Swiffer WetJet".

    That's my truth. ;-)

  2. I know how that goes! I feel fortunate if I can manage to sweep during the week. Especially since The Boy is still picking up whatever random bits he finds on the floor and eating them. Nice, huh.