Gold Flecks on Black Clouds

This morning, I spent hours a few brief moments on Pinterest pinning so many random things. I even made a new board for hair styles, you know, in case I ever want to do something besides a ponytail. No, really, I thought some of the styles would look good on my girls (good excuse, huh?). Anyway, while I was happily pinning from my phone while lounging in my Snuggie, it occurred to me that if I spent as much time doing the things I pinned as I did pinning them, I would be a wonderful mother/wife/cook/house cleaner/crafter/hair stylist. Now don’t get me wrong, I have done a lot of the things I have pinned, but probably not even half. Pinterest has turned me into a money saving gourmet cook who has a folder of inspirational sayings that I can share with friends when they’re struggling.

You know those ecards that have been circulating the last several months? They’re generally a pastel color with an old fashioned (i.e. from my childhood) picture on them with some witty saying meant to make you laugh. They usually have a swear word. My time pinning this morning reminded me of one of those. It said something like: Don’t you wish your life were really as great as you make it seem on Facebook?

Ppffftt. Well, yeah. That’s why we post that stuff. Duh.

So I just wanted to let y’all know I am not perfect! My life is not perfect. Sometimes, I just want to fall apart. Give in. Give up. Sometimes I just want to pretend bad things haven’t happened. That I’m not a product of my past. I have made a phenomenal amount of mistakes in my life. And I’ve had an equal amount of bad things happen to me that weren’t at my own hands.

Imperfect Mother- While I was pinning this morning, my littlest one sat on a bean bag chair and vegged out to The Fresh Beat Band. I yelled at them excessively to clean the rec room Saturday. I get mad when they interrupt me when I’m reading/writing/staring at my phone.

Imperfect Wife- I don’t make my hubby’s lunch for work. I don’t pay attention to whether or not he has clean clothes. I get mad if he wakes me up in the morning. I get mad if he uses all the coffee creamer. I get mad if he doesn’t hang his towel right or leaves his dirty clothes lying around. But I’m the one at home all day.

Imperfect Housekeeper- Oh, yeah. If you’ve been to my house, you know. Right now, the dishwasher is running, so is the washer and dryer. But with towels and sheets, because I HATE folding clothes. Which is probably why hubby runs out of clothes. There are stacks and stacks and stacks of papers EVERYWHERE! The bathroom floor desperately needs an intervention. Actually, all the floors do. After the little one left for school today, I wanted ice cream a healthy snack. I looked in the cabinet for a bowl. None. Opened the dishwasher, grabbed one out. Dirty. And the sink was full. With Dishes from Saturday. Granted, we ate dinner out last night.  

Imperfect Cook- Actually, I am pretty good at this. Once thought, I followed a soup recipe from Pinterest and it was more like a casserole. We ate it. It was good. Just not soup.

I try. I really do. About half the time. Then I hit a bump and remember I can’t be everything to everyone. Sometimes hubby has to throw in a load of clothes and kids need to watch a little more Fresh Beat Band. Sometimes I have to eat Butter Pecan out of the Diego bowl though I despise eating out of plastic bowls. I don’t have it all figured out. But I find inspiration in the strangest of places at the most disheartening of times. Like in the midst of one of the most horrible things I’ve ever gone through in my life, my littlest one wins the Cutest Little Miss Farmer contest. And after an exhausting court hearing, an agent requests to read part of one of my books. And then she asks for the rest of it. They are flecks of gold in all the black clouds.

No, I’m not perfect. I am a product of everything, everyone that has been a part of my life. Life keeps moving, it doesn’t slow down for me. It passes by even when I’m wrapped in a Snuggie wasting the day on Pinterest. I can’t make the most of every moment because sometimes I’m just to worn out to make anything more than carbon dioxide. I wear a mask for the world to see, so they see the me I want them to see. So they see who I want them to think I am.

Who am I really? I am a survivor of things I can’t even type; things that I hide behind the mask I wear. Slowly, I will peel the mask off because I’m tired of hiding.

(Note: I do not have an agent currently. I am not getting too excited about this and actually hesitate writing this because if it doesn’t pan out then I have to tell everyone it didn’t happen. If it happens, I will post it on here. Please, don’t ask.)