I was told today "you should write on your blog like you are in real life!"
Interesting.
I thought I WAS writing on my blog like I am in real life...
but the more I thought about it, maybe she's right.
I can't tell you the gory details about my life.
I can't tell you how frustrating it is to try to decipher a child's barely-knows-enough-English-to-be-frustrating rant while another child is crying and feeling wronged and you have no idea what is the matter. I can't tell you because you'd think "well... you asked for this!"
I can't tell you how SICKANDFRICKAFRACKINGTIRED I am of my half-bath looking/smelling/feeling like one of those gas stations where you have to get the key that's attached by chain to a big block of wood because, Lord help us, someone wants to get into that bathroom without permission! CHAIN UP THE KEY, Floyd! Someone might get in our bathroom without our knowledge! I don't know why it is... but the floor is gross, the toilet is gross, the light switch is nasty and I don't even want to go in there. I'm considering having a port-a-potty delivered for the under-10 crowd to use exclusively. Maybe the port-a-potty people have a gift registry online! Dear Santa...
I can't tell you about being frustrated because your assumption is that my "heart is so full of love and laughter and happiness and joy and rainbows and butterflies and unicorns with pink manes" that I have had no negative thoughts or emotions EVER in the past two years!"
I don't want to tell you you're wrong.
I can't tell you how annoying the tattling gets, how sick I am of summer vacation or how I wish there was a year-round school option in our area because you'd think "wow - she's a TERRIBLE mom!" You'd tell me all about how all the top-moms homeschool, they read Little House on the Prairie out-loud to their children while they sit around under the handmade quilt the children helped make out of their baby clothes for a lesson on Textiles in the 21st Century.
I can't tell you how I secretly hope all you homeschooling moms want to Google "drop-in childcare center" on a daily basis and I CERTAINLY can't tell you about my TV babysitter before 7am. And sometimes till 8.
I can't tell you about feeling bitter or angry or helpless or frustrated or annoyed or any other negative emotion... because you'd GASP in horror and disbelief because, afterall... I'm the superstar mom with 12 kids...EIGHT of them adopted! GASP! OH the horror....
I won't tell you how sick I am of seeing everyone's Disney vacation pictures because I know we will likely never get there in the next 3 years before my oldest graduates High School. We always said we'd go.
I'm not about to tell you how stinking tired I am of blog posts about a week or two at the beach with your two kids and, aww SAD... it RAINED a few days?? Wah. A rainy day at the beach?? Poor you.
Never would I expound on how sick and tired I am of whiney, entitled, spoiled rich kids flaunting their new "device" in front of my kids, who will never have their own iWhatever until they can foot that bill on their own. They won't get a iPad for their birthday and I don't pay them for good grades (on their public school report cards).
I'm not at all bitter about being held to a higher standard because I have more than 3 or 4 kids. "Ohhhh see?? She must be SO overwhelmed... her youngest didn't have shoes on at Life Group!" Well, newsflash... when I had TWO kids one of them likely didn't have shoes on.
Newsflash:
I don't have it all together.
My house is not clean.
(see above about my half-bath)
I "spring forward" the clock in the kitchen multiple times a week just to get the kids in the bed an hour early. Crafty? Sneaky? I call it "survival" and "genius".
I sometimes secretly wish I could go to work full time just to get the break during the day.
OhyesIdo.
I love my family.
I love my kids, even when they drive me absolutely insane.
Kids do that.
I have bad days. They have bad days.
Bad days usually begin with being awakened 8000 times in the middle of the night and then waking up before the coffee pot does it's automatic brewing thing in the morning.
Sometimes it's just that kind of day.
I'm not perfect.
So, there.
First posted by Chrissy at Injera & Chocolate Gravy
Interesting.
I thought I WAS writing on my blog like I am in real life...
but the more I thought about it, maybe she's right.
I can't tell you the gory details about my life.
I can't tell you how frustrating it is to try to decipher a child's barely-knows-enough-English-to-be-frustrating rant while another child is crying and feeling wronged and you have no idea what is the matter. I can't tell you because you'd think "well... you asked for this!"
I can't tell you how SICKANDFRICKAFRACKINGTIRED I am of my half-bath looking/smelling/feeling like one of those gas stations where you have to get the key that's attached by chain to a big block of wood because, Lord help us, someone wants to get into that bathroom without permission! CHAIN UP THE KEY, Floyd! Someone might get in our bathroom without our knowledge! I don't know why it is... but the floor is gross, the toilet is gross, the light switch is nasty and I don't even want to go in there. I'm considering having a port-a-potty delivered for the under-10 crowd to use exclusively. Maybe the port-a-potty people have a gift registry online! Dear Santa...
I can't tell you about being frustrated because your assumption is that my "heart is so full of love and laughter and happiness and joy and rainbows and butterflies and unicorns with pink manes" that I have had no negative thoughts or emotions EVER in the past two years!"
I don't want to tell you you're wrong.
I can't tell you how annoying the tattling gets, how sick I am of summer vacation or how I wish there was a year-round school option in our area because you'd think "wow - she's a TERRIBLE mom!" You'd tell me all about how all the top-moms homeschool, they read Little House on the Prairie out-loud to their children while they sit around under the handmade quilt the children helped make out of their baby clothes for a lesson on Textiles in the 21st Century.
I can't tell you how I secretly hope all you homeschooling moms want to Google "drop-in childcare center" on a daily basis and I CERTAINLY can't tell you about my TV babysitter before 7am. And sometimes till 8.
I can't tell you about feeling bitter or angry or helpless or frustrated or annoyed or any other negative emotion... because you'd GASP in horror and disbelief because, afterall... I'm the superstar mom with 12 kids...EIGHT of them adopted! GASP! OH the horror....
I won't tell you how sick I am of seeing everyone's Disney vacation pictures because I know we will likely never get there in the next 3 years before my oldest graduates High School. We always said we'd go.
I'm not about to tell you how stinking tired I am of blog posts about a week or two at the beach with your two kids and, aww SAD... it RAINED a few days?? Wah. A rainy day at the beach?? Poor you.
Never would I expound on how sick and tired I am of whiney, entitled, spoiled rich kids flaunting their new "device" in front of my kids, who will never have their own iWhatever until they can foot that bill on their own. They won't get a iPad for their birthday and I don't pay them for good grades (on their public school report cards).
I'm not at all bitter about being held to a higher standard because I have more than 3 or 4 kids. "Ohhhh see?? She must be SO overwhelmed... her youngest didn't have shoes on at Life Group!" Well, newsflash... when I had TWO kids one of them likely didn't have shoes on.
Newsflash:
I don't have it all together.
My house is not clean.
(see above about my half-bath)
I "spring forward" the clock in the kitchen multiple times a week just to get the kids in the bed an hour early. Crafty? Sneaky? I call it "survival" and "genius".
I sometimes secretly wish I could go to work full time just to get the break during the day.
OhyesIdo.
I love my family.
I love my kids, even when they drive me absolutely insane.
Kids do that.
I have bad days. They have bad days.
Bad days usually begin with being awakened 8000 times in the middle of the night and then waking up before the coffee pot does it's automatic brewing thing in the morning.
Sometimes it's just that kind of day.
I'm not perfect.
So, there.
First posted by Chrissy at Injera & Chocolate Gravy
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