The saddest songs are happiest. The hardest truths are the easiest. Put yourself to the test and see if you still need me. Oh sweet soul, why must you cry? Why must you be made of sugar and spice and everything nice when there are so many rainy days ahead?
My body aches. It's not the "hey! great workout alysun!" ache (I forget what that feels like). It's the life ache. The heart ache. The inevitable ache of being real. Living and breathing and blood pumping through your veins seems effortless...except when you are aware of every nerve. It's not so easy to exhale when an invisible elephant has taken a seat on your ribcage. Forgive my transparency. I hate the "Life gives you lemons? Make lemonade." Life doesn't always supply the sugar and water. And, here's something I just learned...lemons go bad if you don't use them. I really had no idea. I feel the same way with parts of my heart. They've gone bad. They've taken a turn.
Being is easy. Just be. But to live, to really live...God has a front row seat to some beautiful disasters. Being a wife is hard. Being a wife when you don't want to be anything but a sponge in hot bath is humbling. Being a mom is hard. Being a mom to twin newborns and a 3 year old feels damn near impossible.
Make no mistake, I could not be more grateful for the blessing God has overflowed my cup with. I just feel the need to be real life. I have found myself, more than ever, comparing myself. To facebook statuses. To pictures of friends and strangers. To a life that I don't necessarily feel entitled to, but sometimes secretly wish I had. Oh, your husband only does amazing things because that's what you post on facebook. Your kids , always well mannered and in constant entertainment of your perfect parenting. Your house? Perfectly decorated by Pinterest with homemade crafts that look like the picture. Again, I am not saying we should post our drama on these here intranets. I appreciate you leaving your business, just that...yours. I am just here to say, (as if I had ANYONE fooled)...I am not perfect. Sometimes we go whole days in our pjs and I forget to brush Charlee's teeth (there...I said it.). Sometimes I cry right along with the twins. Brandon and I have some of the craziest throw down (not literally...easy guys) fights that would make Jesus blush. Our house hasn't been dusted since March and polka dots of spitup is the new design on our furniture. I want you to know--I am real. I am really living...most days. I look at the person I see on the screen and assume that every day their husband brings them breakfast in their self carved wooden dream boat. I assume couples don't fight. I assume your house is perfect. I assume you are a parent that never tires and would never give in to the "Can I please watch Brave AGAIN (3rd time in a day)?" requests. I know you aren't. And most of you aren't putting yourself out to be that way. I am just making an ass out of you and me. And I'm trying to stop.