Dirty Butt

I started reading Bunmi Laditan's "Confessions Of A Domestic Failure" today. I love her. And while this book is fiction, so much of what she writes ... is real. Or at least, it is for me.

I'm not deep enough into the book to review it - and I'm certainly not well read enough to feel confident to review a book online. But. Already (in the 4th-5th) chapters, I'm seeing myself in a couple of characters.

Mostly, I am the main character. Who is, maybe you could guess - a domestic failure. But there is another character in the story - the fictional "Emily Walker" who is a successful lifestyle blogger and general master of all. She really seems to have her life together, this Emily. 

Now wait, before you stone me. I don't identify with Emily in the sense of being a self-appreciating wizard. But. I do think that I have successfully, regretfully, accidentally and quite intentionally tricked a few of you into thinking that I am.

Social media is so weird. You get looped into lives that are seemingly lifetimes away. For example, I am obsessed with a family online ... the Mom (hey Chali, hey!) has exquisite taste. Everything she touches is gold. (She lead a flower crown making class by a creek! Swoon!) Her daughter is the cutest baby I've ever seen (outside of my own). And her food makes me want to hop on over for dinner. Her worldview is similar to mine. But also. Real talk. Knowing all this means that I am a total creep. (Innocently. Please don't block me, girl!) We haven't seen each other since I was maybe 12. Like, THAT is what social media is. Being a creep on somebody who could totally be your bestie, but who hasn't actually seen you for over (sigh) two decades.

So I play the game. I post my best photos.

Last weekend, I found a little time and hosted a selfie party with the sheer intention of getting myself a new profile picture. Because, you know. It's spring. (That was actually my rationale. #crazy) I sat on the floor in my room, opened the blinds to my window (which are pretty much perma closed) and self timered the day (okay 30 minutes) away. What you can't see in the picture is A) My pores. Duh. And B) The sleeping toddler 16 inches from the camera. And the whines of a baby who desperately wanted to maybe not be in the Bumbo for this ridiculous photoshoot of mine. Once I took 748 pics, I whittled them down to one. And then I added at least 32 or so filters to it. Then I posted it, and enjoyed all the attention it brought me. I'm embarrassed to write that all out, but ... it's the truth.

I'm on Snapchat. Which is 100000% my favorite platform. I used to say it was like Instagram, but without all the glossiness. Until it turned into the filter factory of the universe. And man, I LIVE for those Snap filters. I filter the snot outta my snaps. They have cute voices, and bunny ears ... I mean, how could I not? And while I really try to stay real, and honest (And funny. I have to laugh, so that I don't cry) ... I still manage to get messages from friends who think I have somehow got my life figured out. I swear it must be the eyeliner.

What a fraud!

I am the biggest hot mess there is. And I need you all to know this, because. I loathe the phonies out there. The "I'm so good at life, look at how happy I always am" people. I'm not saying you need to make your feed a dialogue of your most depressing thoughts. But we all have at least one friend who is fake AF online, and I just want to make sure that if that person happens to be me, you cross my name of that list.

So here. In no particular order, are things about me that you couldn't know or guess from my online presence:

• I don't get to shower often. I've heard other people say this. I think they're talking about hair washes. I'm talking about butt washes. Motherhood has many tolls - for me, a clean butt is one of them. (Call my husband. Congratulate him on his winnings.) ***Also, as part of me is mortified about this confession - I would like to remind you that 'ol dirty butt here is cleaner than the people of centuries past - including royalty!
• I can't shower, but I'm wearing makeup? That's right. That's me choosing bronzer over bath.
• I love the shit out of my husband. But I also (it goes both ways, for sure) think he is the most annoying human being that has ever existed in all of the evers of time.
• I have a friend who has caused me a lot of stress, and agony. I'm at a stalemate at how to proceed; it weighs me down a lot. And too often.
• My clean house doesn't mean I have my life together. What it does mean, is that I have (clinically diagnosed) OCD. When things get messy, so do I. This does not apply to your house. So don't for one second think your messes will stress me out. Just mine. I will however, happily, help you organize. All you've got to do is ask. 
• I feel like a square peg in a round hole. My religious and political beliefs are - well thought out and informed - and also a major minority in the places I have lived. I respect differing opinions, but it hasn't often felt like that is reciprocated for me. This makes me feel tense and rigid.
• I am quite lonely. This existed even before the move ... So I can't totally blame it on that.
• My kids. Sweet dumplings that they are. Drive me absolutely batty. And sometimes I call them names (not to their face, if that makes it better) - like "asshole". One time, because I know my friend Adam will bring it up, I called Jet a douche. I don't love anybody more than I love my kids - but apparently I'm not above name calling. (He wasn't a douche that day, btw. But ... I was.)
• I cry often. Some reasons are valid. Some reasons are commercials.
• I'm really moody. I often appear "up" - and when you see that, it's real. I'm not a good faker. But, I'm also not comfortable sharing more than my "up" mood. But boy oh boy, we have the whole crew of "Inside Out" up in this hizzy. Lots of the fiery red guy, for sure.
• I worry about my kids. I'm just trying to keep them alive. I have both (likely) toxic and crunchy-mother-earth sunscreens. We eat french fries and fruit. Lots of screen time. Nose to nose cuddles, and also blood curdling screams. It might seem like balance, but I basically read an article a day that tells me some area of my life is damaging them. I love them deeply, but I do wonder what I'm doing that is scarring them for eternity. (Outside of all my singing.)
• Until my skin actually looks like the "pretty filter" on Snapchat, I will not leave the house without makeup.
• The same goes for filters. They exist. It's like candy. If it's right there, I'm taking it. But under the makeup and all the filters is my totally regular, acne recovering, skin. Pores, scars, redness. The whole bit.
• Kindness is the most admirable of traits in my book. It's everything I strive to be. But regrettably, sometimes I can be quite petty. (See above: name calling)
• I struggle. Balancing it all. Most days, I feel like I suck. I have a short fuse. I get bested by a two year old and her macaroni antics. My baby has decided to pass on the sleep schedule I had kindly provided her with. (Sleeping in is a gift that she returned without a receipt.) I forget Jet is 10, and expect him to be or do more than he is. I go to bed, wiped. Thankful for a fresh start. And often wake up, not recovered or ready for that fresh start to begin.
• I believe everything <<except underwear>> can be Febreezed and worn when collected out of the laundry hamper.
• I am unhappy, resentful, and a slew of other nasty and unlikeable things. Regularly. Well rounded, if you will.

So ... I'm just like the crusty Mom in the book. And I'm guessing, if you're a Mom or any other kind of person - you've got plenty of (some variation of) dirty butt, too. 

 (I sure hope so.)