Sometimes I worry about whether or not I am doing a good job accurately portraying my life here. If I am honest it is equal parts worry that my readers will think I am insufferable (how often does anyone want to read about how perfectly splendid life is?) and worry that I am somehow failing to see what is right in front of me, fearing that I am not actually as content as I think I am. Both scenarios are troublesome. The first because I certainly don’t want to alienate the masses (heh) (whom I clearly crave approval from on some level because I have been more than upfront about my insecurity.) And the latter because I am always afraid of the monster under the bed. (Lucky for you I do not fear the sentence fragment or the dangling participle. I fearlessly embrace the run-on sentence.)
I worry that if I write about the Good it will be boring. And there is so much Good, so much genuine Greatness in my world right now it is hard to write of much else. I want to tell you about the shoes I decoupaged and how I might be a little bit in love with Mod Podge.
But it really hasn’t been long since I posted about Em’s room and I fear that incessant posting about my craftiness will read as “Look at Me! Validate me! Aren’t I worth something now that I am a mostly stay at home mom!?!”So I have been quiet this week. Not for lack of things to say but for fear that I am not being authentic.
And then today as I peeled off the sports bra I have been wearing all week (does any nursing mother wear a normal bra unless she is “going somewhere”) I started to laugh. Four nursing pads, a pen, a paper towel, an iPhone cable and a dolphin.
It takes me a minimum of two trips to leave my house. The other day at the chiropractor it was noted my shirt was on inside out. This morning I walked around the house with the plastic cup that lives in the dog food bin in my hand for five minutes. It was not until I went to make a phone call on said plastic cup that I noted that my phone was in the bin. I am drinking a cup of coffee right now and I am reasonably certain that if you went in my kitchen right now the cabinets containing the mugs and the Keurig cups would be open. And apparently I stuff random crap in my bra.
My house is clean. My laundry is folded. The beds are made and the bathrooms wiped down. Because that is the way I like it. I get a lot done during a day. I like doing projects. But all this does not add up to make me a Stepford wife.
Stepford wives do not get squeezed out of their own beds when their husband goes out of town.
I am still me. I can be happy and still not have my shit together. I can get a lot accomplished in a day and still be scatterbrained. I can have a clean(ish) and organized house and not be all Martha Stewart.
The other night I found myself telling someone that I had seen an awesome pin on Pinterest. “You know that smell in Williams & Sonoma? It is lemon, rosemary and vanilla extract!” I could hear myself talking and on the inside I was thinking who the hell am I? Then in my next breath I was saying that my kitchen currently smells like a very clean marijuana smoking device.
Since Lucy has started eating more and is sitting at the table frequently I have been very careful to make sure I only wipe the kitchen table down with Simple Green. I bought my first bottle of Simple Green in a head shop in the mid 1990s to clean the resin from my precious glass. So while 36 year old Kelly peruses the internet trying to figure out a way to make her kitchen smell like Williams Sonoma instead of the inside of a very clean bong 21 year old Kelly would be pleased to know that she has not been forgotten.
I’m kind of afraid of becoming a happy suburban mommy. I am afraid that five, ten years from now I will look backwards and think why did I Mod Podge everything I own? How many front door wreaths does one girl need? I am afraid that my DIY decor will scream single family income and too much free time. But mostly I am afraid that I will get so far away from who I was that I won’t realize that my kitchen smells like a head shop.
If you’ll excuse me I have half a bottle of Chianti to drink while I ruminate on this subject. Lucy is going to start crawling any second. I need to sit on my ass and navel gaze while I can.
Special bonus points if you know where the title came from!
Excitement on the side 
I miss nursing. I used to find the most wonderful snacks/trinkets in my bra.
And I fear the whole happy suburban wife/mom thing, too. I’m afraid I’ll be sucked in and start making home made apple chips in glass jars to give to my neighbors. But I suppose there are worse things in life than being happy. I should probably remind myself of that more. Oh and the shoes – perfection!
” I suppose there are worse things in life than being happy.” Bingo. I tell myself this frequently.
As a new stay-at-home mom, thank you for putting into words everything that has been going through my head the last three months. I’m coming to terms with the fact that I am no longer the woman that brings beer and boobs to a party…I bring my newly pinned Pinterest recipe. Who cares. It tastes better than anything anybody else brought. And that DIY bed that I’m going to make for my daughter that holds her toy bins? Awesome. And EVERYONE wants their house to smell like Williams & Sonoma.
Kudos to keeping your bathrooms clean, though. I still can’t get that down.
Boobs and beer. We are one and the same, friend. I happen to think a crock pot filled with meatballs is a close runner up. We will get adjusted. To the new normal. Right about the time our kiddos are in school and we have to figure out what to do with ourselves. Again.
Hey, just found you on Mommy Only Has2 Hands Blog Showcase Thingy! You are a riot and delightful and yes, I am not a young mom like you all, I’m an empty nestor but love blogging and thrive on inter-generational cross blogging! (Just made that up.)
I will be back, love this blog!
Susie
I love it! Intergenerational cross blogging! I’m down!! :) thanks for reading!!
Eh, don’t apologize for having a life you should and want to have and don’t be embarrassed of the stay at home mom stigma. Most of us work our asses off. Anyway love your writing and keep it up! :)
Muchas gracias!!
In the interest of full disclosure, I think it only fair to report that at about 11:30 this am, Ms Kelly was anything but a happy mommy. Emily was done with summer vacation, Kelly was done with Nickelodeon and being premenstrual, and Lucy was done with being a happy baby.
Thank god for Wendy’s and chocolate shakes and fries. It always worked for me. Stuff one in your bra for later in the day, Kel.
xoxo
I knew you’d rat me out. Xxoo
I love you.
Mwah. Back at you, kind sir.
You had me at Mod Podge. I had to go look it up. Now, you’re my heroine.
Ha! I give you my blood, sweat and tears, my deepest darkest secrets in this space… and then I glue some pin up girls on a pair of Danskos and I am your hero? Blogging is a strange thing. HAHA.
Vagina Monologues… and I love this post.
(and I apologize if this comment appears 3 times…)
:) I should have known you get it.
“I was worried. I was worried about vaginas.”
What do bonus points earn me?
Also, I followed Ms Emily’s twitter link here. I totally understand where you’re coming from with this post. I have 4 kids and I walk around with shit in my bra (or just my top if I’ve not bothered to put a bra on) all the time. I am in constant fear of forgetting my own name because even my husband refers to me as “mommy” now. Um…not in a creepy way – it’s just because he knows I’ll respond if I hear it, and usually the kids are around.
I’ve already forgotten where I was going with this comment because I was distracted by the paper towels, crumbs and pink crayons I just found in the top of my dress. >.<
Pink crayons, you say. Almost like an accessory…. ;)
Vagina Monologues… and I love this post.
Love you!
:)
Oh my word, I love you so much for this. 1, Mod Podge is amazing. Don’t apologize for it. 2, You can be all those things! I think if 21YO Kelly saw you now, she’d still think you were pretty rad. 3, Your blog is wonderful and if it reflects the happiness in your life right now, more power to you. And lastly, thank you for writing this! You really gave me a boost this morning. I tweeted it to pass on the boost.
Thanks, lady! Apologizing for being happy is the tip of the iceberg of my neurosis.