Hard to Admit Realness

I'm debating on how honest to be right now. I feel a lot of pressure to keep this blog upbeat and fun, but I'm not feeling really upbeat and fun right now. But, I feel a real need to be authentic and genuine.

So I've started this post 14 and 1 times. I've tried to blog about something cute my kids did and deleted it. I tried blogging about me buying green M&Ms yesterday and deleted it. I tried blogging about all my dirty laundry and the monster that lives in my dryer but deleted it. I have even shut my computer and said, "Not today."

But, I'm back. Because I've decided that not all blogs have to be happy all the time. That being real people in real marriages with real jobs with real kids is, well, real. And real isn't happy all the time.

I'm a mom. A really real mom. I love my kids from the stars and back, and find myself in awe that God would find me worthy enough to entrust these angels to me. I love tickle parties, bedtime prayers, and snuggling. But I yell, I scream, and I lose my temper more than I should. In fact, I made Keaton cry night before last. Talk about a knife to the heart. I went to bed that night praying that I hadn't crushed his spirit. I woke him up to ask his forgiveness. I held him while we both cried some more.

I'm a wife. A really real wife. I love to be romanced and get aggravated when I'm not. I say things I don't mean and can make myself crazy by letting thoughts run wild in my head. I've imagined my life without my husband, but can't imagine my life without him in the very same moment. I've cried myself to sleep many a night for him, and laughed till I've cried with him.
At the end of the day, I can't believe how lucky I am. I'm certainly undeserving.

I'm a child of God. I've run and hid from my Father more times than I've run to Him. I have a strong desire to be in step with the Word, but am okay with admitting that I don't get it right most of the time. I rest easy in the knowledge that He loves me anyway. His love is the most perfect love that I've ever known.

I'm a friend. I don't return phone calls like I should and am a terrible hostess. In fact, I'm not a hostess. Hostessing makes me break out in a cold sweat. I love that I have friends that fill that role for me, but have left feeling like scum because I don't ever reciprocate. I love to laugh and love to cry with my friends. I like to know their secrets and like them to know mine. I'm so blessed to have real friends with real problems and real hurts. Because we're real....we work.

I'm guilty of being lazy. I watch way too much tv and spend way too much time on the computer. I have walked past a sticky koolaide spot on the kitchen floor to watch The Bachelor, and I have left clothes in the washer until they stink because I was busy on FaceBook. I've also rewashed that same load of clothes 2 or 3 times for that same reason. I've turned cartoons on in one room for my kids and watched my shows in another room, And then have cried myself to sleep for not spending enough time with my boys.

I'm an approval seeker. I've shopped for certain clothes with others' reactions in mind. I've bought shoes because someone else said I should. I've cut my hair to be like someone else, and I've recut my hair to be like someone else. I've said things and held my tongue all with others in mind. I've succumbed to peer pressure more times than I can count, and have made decisions in my life for people that now I can't even remember their names. I have a terrible time saying "No," but a remarkably easy time being a doormat. I've wondered what it would be like to be one who didn't care what other people think. Don't ever see myself there.


I could sit here all day. I could tell you about how I'm a non-decision maker, a hypochondriac, and a girl who lets fear rule a huge chunk of her life. But not today. This was enough soul-searching for one day.

I'm real. Very real. Pathetically real. Amazingly real.

With that off my chest, I'm ready to go start my very real day. Hoping for happy.