As it appears…We’re the family with fluffy dogs
frolicking in the front yard. We wave at the neighbors as they walk in front of
our home. Our boys shoot hoops in the driveway and address adults as Mr. and
Mrs. Our daughter comes and goes in the car she received as a sweet-sixteenth
birthday gift. And my husband comes home every evening to a lovely dinner I’ve
prepared.
What’s
real…our daughter’s Christmas present just
shit on my living room carpet, which is officially ruined and in desperate need
of being removed. It’s puppy training gone sideways. This isn’t my first rodeo
and I don’t know if he’s that stupid
or just trying to piss me off. Either way…
Sometimes, I
walk in the house and pretend. OMG!!
We’ve been broken into!! Only, that’s not likely. The number of dirty
dishes lying around indicates the robbers would’ve been too malnourished and
dehydrated to steal anything. I walk around on pins and needles hoping my
neighbors don’t drop by for anything. And when the doorbell does ring I nearly
stroke out.
I run the
sweeper and dust which prompts my children to ask who’s coming over?
My van is 7
years old. It’s a great van. But when I drop my 11-year old off at school
French fries and water bottles fall out. And the side door won’t automatically
open anymore because the boys spilled something on the track and it’s sticky.
My husband
and I lie in bed at night and wonder how it will all come together. We laugh
until our stomachs hurt.
I fantasize about being that
mom. I try. Hard. And fail miserably. The 6 of us are all passengers on the
crazy train. It feels like we’re moving. It feels like we’re making progress.
So, we assume we’ll eventually get there. But it doesn’t really matter. We’re
just enjoying the ride.
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