Guys. I’m doing that thing again.
The thing where I look at Instagram and feel like a disaster.
You know what I mean. I see the flawless white homes, perfectly wavy Victoria’s Secret hair, and the sun flare.
I see the painted toes and the glossy lips and the perfectly accessorized children.
And I start to feel less than.
WHAT IS THAT ALL ABOUT ANYWAY?
I am 40 freaking years old. I’m not an insecure teenager. But man…she’s still in there and she still comes out. Nothing can lure her like a perfectly applied IG filter.
So let’s talk. Friend to friend.
This morning I stuck my hand deep into a poopy diaper. DEEP. Like two knuckles deep.
I spilled an entire container of salsa fresca on the kitchen floor. There were chunks ON THE CEILING.
I drove the girls to school in the shirt I slept in and no shoes.
I’m battling Cora over the binkie, Harper over social media, and myself over getting ready to move to Alaska.
I don’t like pumpkin spice lattes.
I’m not wearing makeup. I actually don’t wear makeup unless it’s a special occasion.
My hair is in a ponytail, as always, and I still have thinning spots and gaps.
I’m on my last day of prednisone and I am a speed-talking, speed-cleaning mess.
Cora watches Elmo on a YouTube loop sometimes. I don’t feel bad about this.
I have a load of clothes in the washer that I’ve restarted THREE times.
Harper referred to wings as “bird arms” this weekend. This concerns me.
I just lost a job I really loved and I’m having to make some changes and moves to replace the income. I needed the money- Northern VA with five kids is no joke.
I’m working hard to make my Thirty-One business succeed but I refuse to be agressive, insincere, pushy, or make people uncomfortable.
When Jimmy was out of town this weekend I made the deployment special. This is pasta. With butter. And chunks of ham. The lunch meat kind. We also ate “sister soup”. That’s ice cream with marshmallows, chocolate chips, sprinkles, and candy corn on top. And then I let them zap it in the microwave. And slurp it down.
I wear yoga pants every day. I have no fancy skin care regimen and I don’t get manicures.
I tried to take a fall picture this weekend and Cora ripped up my mums in the process.
I haven’t been to the gym in three weeks. Last time I went I ended up hiding and reading instead of going to class.
Does any of this make me better or worse than my beautiful IG friends? NO. No it doesn’t. I’m assuming that they aren’t that different from me. I bet they are hot messes too. It’s just hard to remember that when facing the perfect beauty. Many of those accounts are brands. I’m not a brand. Or if I am…it’s a unique brand. HA!
Does any of this have any bearing on my worth as a woman or a mother or a human? NO.
I also choose the pretty parts to show. That’s what we do, right?
No. I don’t want to see the proverbial poop or salsa or arguments on IG. But let’s talk about it more!
Never compare your insides to someone else’s outsides.
So, tell me. How are YOU today? How are you truly? What are your struggles and insecurities and hidden disasters?
I’m not the only one…right?