Perfect life is perfect

I keep hearing comments from the peanut gallery (read: Matt’s family) that my blogging is missed. The truth is that I haven’t trusted myself to come back to this place without saying something passive aggressive towards some of my readers. (Hint: it might be family members.) I did get my camera cord back though, so I can share pictures again.
Expect mediocre pictures coming soon. I am also overdue for a belly shot.

Until then, I feel the need to clear the air. I know that I am not always a nice person.  I’m not perfect. I’m judgmental of others. I yell at my kids. It just so happens that I play the role of the beautiful house wife, with the perfect kids, and the gorgeously decorated house on the Internet. But we all know that it isn’t completely true. Yes, my husband is wonderful. He works very hard and is very respected at his work. No, he doesn’t have a complete college education. Sometimes we even fight. He never kills baby bunnies though.

I’ll admit that my kids have issues too. They are too wild, don’t always listen, and always prefer to run instead of walk.

Bennett doesn’t eat healthy food and at three years old, he doesn’t like to sleep alone. He’s darn funny though. He refers to his man parts as his wenis. He doesn’t know his ABCs, or how to count to ten, and he watches too much TV. If nobody is paying him any attention, he’ll change his clothes three times a day. He has a fondness for pajamas particularly fuzzy fleece ones. Most days I am too lazy to care.

Simon is starting therapy for his anxiety on Friday at the mental health center. His tummy aches and chest pains have become too much. His refusal to eat has become a strain on everyone. He hates school. I struggle with knowing how to respond and when to push and when to back off. I have a seven year old that needs medication to control his panic attacks. If I didn’t know that anxiety was a genetic disorder, I might start blaming myself. I might even think it was a case of bad parenting.

I missed this place. I missed writing. When I come to this place, I come to brag. I come to share pictures of goofy children with missing teeth and dirty faces. I come to write about my struggles and my loves and my fears.

Next time, I promise to trust myself enough to not let a couple of comments throw me off my groove. Judge me and us all you want. I can take it. I will probably whine and cry about it to Matt and my Mom but I’ll never tell.

I’m surrounded by people that I love and that is a real gift.


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