I feel like I need to clear up something. An old friend of mine and I were texting the other day. She asked what I was up to, and I said “not really anything…just sort of, you know…waiting till kids’ bedtime”. Here’s what followed:
Because here’s the thing. I’ve had some people tell me that my life looks “perfect” from the blog, that I always do such amazing things with my kids all the time, that they could never do what I do even with less kids. Or my favorite, that I seem so organized and together.
So I’m here to set the record straight. There are approximately 56 hours in a week which I could take my kids out adventuring (8 hours a day, 7 days a week). Each blog entry covers about 2-3 hours of our week. That means that the remaining 53 hours are spent doing things like:
Playing naked karate in front of a soccer game.
Going to the doctor’s office because if someone gets sick, that means that someone else will get sick two days later. And someone else two days after that. And the someone else two days after that. And maybe I’m lucky to not get sick, but chances are I will and we’ll have another day at home doing exactly nothing.
Building “A Big Dog Bone” out of wood, paper cups, and garbage they found in our tiny back yard. Which is dangerous.
Eating pizza on the couch. In nothing but a diaper.
Piling up all the crap from my four kids’ shared bedroom, into one bed.
I swear a lot. My kids eat fast food. Our neighbors can hear yelling if our windows are open, I’m sure. We watch too much TV. I make mistakes with my kids, my husband, my family, and my friends on a regular basis.
The definition of perfect (as described by dictionary.com) follows:
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