Reality

you know?  It can be a bit like cold water in your face. 

And reality is a lot to swallow some days. And I'm not speaking for you.  Oh no.  I would never.  I'm speaking for me.  Yes, just for me.  And for mine.  I'm sure there is no one out there who can relate at all.  Nope.  No one at all.

And you wanna know something?  I am that Mom who sits looking out the window, hint of drool in the corner of her mouth, saying "just three more years...three more...then I can have quasi-intelligent conversations with them.  Perhaps even reason with them.  Mayhap...get through a day without a nap".  Me, not them.

And I am also that same mom who wrote many a blog posts lamenting being lonely for these kidlets of mine and longing desperately for that which I now whine about on occasion.  Also, for the record, let's just state here and now that I am hook, line, and sinker in love with these two children of mine.  But help a sista out.  It's hard work.  Can I get an amen?

I'm also a girl who loves order.  With a penchant for a little bit of the OCD.  Yes, that's my reality.  And BC (before children) I thought that order would always rule my life.  That I would snap my little fingers like Mary Poppins and a spoon full of sugar would keep the dust bunnies away.  That even when we were AC (after chaos children) somehow things would just continue as they always had. (oh slap me) We had a motto BC...and it was that everything had a place and everything was in its place.  

I don't know about you, because...well, we're only talking about me, remember?  But in my AC house...things are often just plan ol' messy.  Like a lot.  Like a really lot.  Snort.

I don't think we get through a single day without the living room resembling a toy dumping ground.  Sacred though it may be for all those under 3.  For me it's a tripping hazard.  And I won't even tell you the words that come flying out of my mouth when I step on some jaggedy shaped piece of something that belongs to some whateverthesamhill.  

Some days my dishes sit.  And sit.  And pile up.  And sit some more.  And let's be honest (as per usual) - I hate doing dishes.  Loading?  Unloading?  Rinsing?  Doesn't matter.  Hate it.  Not fun. And sometimes they just, well...sit there.  Until I can get up the gumption to stop adding to the pile and start cleaning it up.  Reality.

I swear to you, laundry literally pro-creates when I leave it alone for like .5 seconds.  No, listen...this is serious friends.  The laundry at my house...like back in...I don't know 2008 I think...it like quadrupled.  And I was all "what the heck" and AB was all "I know, right?".  And now?  Don't get me started. Like around January of this year...it freaking jumped the shark, my laundry.  It's not even realistic anymore.  It's just piles and piles begetting more piles...worse than Genesis.  T-shirts begetting dress shirts.  Dress shirts begetting pants.  Pants begetting onesies.  Oh, the reality. 

Sometimes I'll be cleaning.  Yes, sometimes.  In all my spare time.  Double snort.  And let's say I'll be in the bathroom, and straightening up a pile of clothes on the floor or emptying the trash.  And I look around and see the mess that just  IS.  It just seems like as I'm cleaning up one mess, the other messes are staring me down and calling me out from the corners of every room.  And the bathtub.  Don't even get me started on "The Tub"...mess.

Oh wait, look...it's here.  Awesome.

The hap-hazard makeup basket for the "carefree easy-going lovely mom look" that I sport at least once a year?  I'll be honest...what the hay.  Reality?  I don't wear makeup that often.  Ok, almost never.  I can't help it.  I have frequently  been known to sport a baseball cap, sweats, AND a sad and sorry lack of makeup.  GASP!  I know!  But is there any reason for my poor makeup basket to sit in disarray day in and out? 

Priorities people.  Sometimes it's just about getting into the car in one piece with two kids in tow and making it somewhere on time.  The things you let go...

Reality.

And while we're airing out my dirty laundry...no really, I'm airing it out as we speak - I have been known to engage in child labor.  Listen, start em' young.  That's what I always say. Whatever works.

And see what I mean?  Messes behind messes behind messes while the child pretends to vacuum.  I mean, the messes are just pro-creating all over the freaking house.  (And don't tell me you missed the "naughty chair" back there...facing the door.  Oh yes.  I mean, that's just us, right?  I'm sure you never need one of those at your house...

And I will admit to you that I have stacks of stuff.  And BC? I swore up an down that I would never have "stacks".  Piles of papers, ads, magazine, books, clothes, supplies, random whoseyourmama stuff that just sits and sits and sits.  And now they're breeding.  Taking a lesson from the laundry, I guess?  But it's everything I can do to keep these stacks from growing to the ceiling.  

And it's so not me.  Won't you please believe me?  That is to say, it's not how I thought I would be.  Not how I thought things would get done or not get done AC.  I was so sure my OCD tendencies would carry me through the years and avoid the cleaning "challenged" pitfalls of new motherhood. 

Still, it's my reality.  At least for a while.  Like, umm..17, 18 more years or so.  Sniff.  I mean, that's like...not that long.  And I'm trying to make peace with it.  Of course, I'm only speaking for myself.  I'm sure this is just me...positively sure.

And with that, I have not a scrap of dignity left with which to flaunt in your direction.

Oh - except I'll say this: I love my babies.  (Do I have to qualify that each time I write honest posts about real life - God forbid we ever confess to not being totally infatuated with all aspects of motherhood - i.e. a messy house)

Just keepin' it real

Holla'