Inspired

Ok, so I never really got the whole "blog" thing. What could people possibly have to write about every single day? Then I read some hilarious blogs by some women who pull out all the stops. The good, bad and the ugly of motherhood and life in general. Because let's face it. . . nothing is ever as perfect as parenting magazines, and sometimes the news, would have you believe.

So I guess you could say that I've been inspired by some of these amazing women who put it all out there in hopes that someone, somewhere understands where they are coming from, but at the same time, don't really give a shit if people disagree. It is what it is.

I want to be perfect. I really do. I'm a smart, capable person so I know I have the tools. It's the execution that's a little... off. Story of my life I guess. But then, isn't there just so much damn emphasis on being perfect nowadays? Perfect mom, perfect wife, perfect friend, perfect family member, the list goes on and on. It's a lot of freakin' pressure, isn't it? Who the hell needs it? In this day and age, there is enough crap to deal with just trying to get through 24 hours in one piece.

So I've decided that average is okay and I'm going to rant about it and to hell with whoever doesn't like it. I like to think of it as free therapy. If I get 2 followers, great.. that's two more people that can hear my somewhat twisted side of things and maybe agree. Or maybe, they'll tell me what an idiot I am and run screaming from my page, warning the internet masses to stay far, far away. I'll never know unless I try, right?

And now for the disclaimer. I love my husband and kids to death and would never change a thing about where this whirlwind has taken me.

So, a little about myself, because what blog wouldn't be complete without the cheesy intro.

I'm a thirty-something (edging towards forty) wife, mom of a boy and a girl, and proud, albeit exhausted, holder of a full time job. Then I come home and start my other full time job. Hubby and I work opposite shifts, so when I'm home, he's not and I have the kids all to myself. Now, you would think that time would be packed with wonderful mother-child memories full of flowers, sunshine, and ponies that shit rainbows.

It's not.

First off, let me tell you a little about this full time job that I'm so proud of. I am an emergency services dispatcher. The agency I work for dispatches police, fire, and EMS for three different towns, part of the Appalachian Trail (stupid hikers will be a whole other blog post, along with "how to call 911") and a slew of unincorporated towns. So basically, I listen to people's problems all day and figure out what they need to solve it and get it rolling, get it done. Saving lives, one phone call at a time. All sarcasm aside, the job kicks ass and I really do feel proud of myself most days when the clock hits 3:00. This just may be the one area of my life where I am close to perfect. I have to be, because if I'm not, things go south in a hurry.

You caught the part about listening to people complain and ask for help all day? Well, then I go home and do the same thing until about 9:00 at night. Home, where my husband has already gone to work and my kids are waiting impatiently for me to solve their problem of the day. Let me correct myself... problems. Because at the end of the day, there is homework and karate and downshifting from friend and recess drama and supper and arguments over who takes their shower first and who gets to watch their favorite TV show and bedtimes and staying in bed and shutting off lights because they should be sleeping and....

You get the picture.

I joke with my husband that he has the easy part. He gets the kids in the  morning when they're happy and rested and just wondering what to ride first, the bike, the scooter, or the skateboard. I get them at the end of the day when they're tired, cranky, and well, all of that stuff above. You know, the "hard" stuff. But what was that line from that movie with that overrated actor..."It's supposed to be hard. If it wasn't hard, everyone would do it. The hard... is what makes it great."

Quoting cheesy baseball movies... perfect.

Before you all gasp and click the ominous red X in the upper right corner of your screen because you think I'm a horrible mother for putting this out there and even worse person in general, let me say this. It's not all bad. We do have plenty of great moments, easy moments, possibly even perfect ones. The hard parts are what make me appreciate those moments even more. They make me appreciate the fact that even though I'm not a rail-thin, uber-organized PTA mom, I've got a great life that is more than I could have ever hoped for.

It's just short of perfect. And I wouldn't have it any other way. Hope you stay with me for the ride.