Be you bravely

I promise realness.

Lately I've been feeling grumpy. At mothers. Mothers who complain about how mess filled their lives are and that they are imperfect so that others will play part to their ego party. I'm not talking about the imperfect mess moms who have little children and who work hard to get a load of laundry done and put up, and those who find goldfish crackers in the play kitchen. I mean the kool aid mom.

You know her. She's on your facebook feed or instagram, or at work constantly going on about how her house is messy. Her photos usually say "please excuse the mess", and there's no mess. There's no sign that a little one spit up on the carpet or played with legos. Or found make up and had a field day with it.

When did our lives have to become so picture perfect? When did we stop being genuine and feel the need to compete and worry about who does a Frozen party first? Have moms always been like this or did something snap within the day pinterest opened to the public?

When did it become trendy to be the imperfect mom? Maybe I'm judgey? I'm just tired of that mom. She isn't real. She isn't brave. She's there though, in me. In me when I'm scared to be me, bravely. 

So here is my promise. Of realness. Of me. My life where I have dogs that eat diapers, that I love chocolate and bourbon in peach tea, and my house is usually a mess. Laundry everywhere. Sometimes my girls match, it's fun! Then again don't be surprised if you visit unannounced and they're watching Blue's Clues wearing only diapers and grins. 

Cause I'd rather not be that mom.