Im sitting at my kitchen counter working. Staring at a sink full of dishes so high they are flowing on to the counter. Because my “office” downstairs in the basement was flooded a few months back and we have half carpet and half concrete floors and 400,000 books and crap crafts and shit to throw away that I need to go through before we can have the old furniture taken out. There is an obstacle course from my daughter’s room though the hall to her bathroom. I should feel bad about that. I guess.

My dog is overdue for his shots. My son is not exactly excelling in school. There’s a pile of dirty clothes on the floor. Theres a hole in my hallway to my room where the wood floor was damaged from February’s flood…we are still waiting for that to be repaired. I can’t cook. I eat cereal for dinner sometimes. My kids watched the movie “Friday” when they were VERY young. My son flips me off occasionally. My daughter picked me up from a bar recently because Id been drinking. I didn’t need to be driving. She is 15. My marriage is far from perfect and there are days Im literally grateful he’s so good looking because its all thats keeping me around. If he can’t get his underwear to the hamper by the time he’s 45 I just don’t know people…I just don’t know what I can be held responsible for.

Two weeks ago I sat and ate an entire box of Nilla Wafers in less than 30 minutes. Not the mini ones. While simultaneously posting in one of my fit groups about “the responsibility you have to fuel your body correctly”.  I hate birds. And I mean HATE. Not Eagles of course. But all of the other ones. I sometimes want to shoot them from my patio. I have called my 14 year old son an asshole. Because he was being one. I told the school some of their rules were stupid. STUPID. I like God, Guns, and Gays…go make sense of that shit!

I have an autoimmune disorder that TRULY sucks. It causes exhaustion and stomach problems and a plethora of other lovely shit I wont elaborate on. My husband’s brain is rotting. And if Im being honest once in awhile when a customer says “I just want cake instead of carrots…its just so HARD not to eat cake” I want to crawl through the phone and punch them in the mouth. Hard? Pretty sure thats not the definition of HARD.

And recently someone told me that they had thought I had this “perfect life”. I have a body thats in shape, nice husband, good kids, a successful business. Its true. Thats pretty amazing stuff. Then they read a blog of mine on my husband’s condition and realized my life is not so “perfect”. Its funny…one of the reasons for the blog was to show the world how human we are. What real life is. How IMPERFECT we are. How completely and totally and extremely IMPERFECT I am. Irony.

As I sit here in my pajama bottoms, a 30 year old cheer sweatshirt, ugg boots and unbrushed teeth I want the world to know that no matter how PERFECT someone looks…how put together a life may seem…there is just real life under there. And Im not shy about waving my real life crazy for everyone to see….because….the messages I got this morning from a few women make it all worth while. Several this morning. Thanking ME for being an inspiration. ME! ME? In all my fucked up glory and imperfections. And maybe for one little teeny tiny microsecond the questions Ive asked about “Why My Dad?”, “Why My Miscarriages?”, “Why My Husband”…all for just one little mini second may seem to have a purpose….Thank you to those beautiful people who messaged me this morning. You made my month!!

Here’s to our perfect lives!