Dear Mom, lower your expectations.

Yesterday I stood in mismatched pajamas with the messiest of messy buns atop my still half asleep head
as my freshly showered, sharply dressed husband hugged me goodbye on his way out the door for work.
Inner monologue: "I do not hate my husband I do not hate my husband..."

Meanwhile, the kids were fighting over who got to put their finger in the empty screw hole (yea)
on the table between shouting demands for MORE peanut butter to not put into their mouths, oh no,
but all over my wall. I'd love to raise a Picasso... some other time.


"Yea, have fun on your VACATION to the office," I quipped to Nathan.
"It must be nice to go to a place where everyone took a shower, dressed themselves,
brushed their teeth..."

Oh I was laying it on thick. I don't need him thinking for ONE MINUTE that this stay-at-home mom
business is for Grey's Anatomy re-runs and bon-bons. Try Sesame Street and an endless raisin buffet
that ends up all over the floor, stuck to my socks, ground into the carpet.

"Have fun in the mosh pit?" he stated in hopes of making me laugh.
"Just turn up the music - they are already tearing it up."

Yea, all he got was some pursed lips and rolling eyes.

At this point I started fake crying. I'm not sure if it was because my kids were now throwing
chewed celery sticks at each other or due to the fact that I probably wouldn't be able to even
put on a bra until at least noon.

"I hate you for leaving," I moaned.
"You're beautiful!" he responded.
To which I laughed in his face... silently calculating the hours in my head until he would be home
again to relieve me from the insanity. I began hallucinating... a raisin-free taco buffet and
a bottomless margarita glass.

And then he went and blessed the mess outta me with three little words:

"LOWER YOUR EXPECTATIONS."
Let's all *SIGH* together.

I just nodded my head, knowing he was right.

How easy it is for me to make my list and do, do, do all the things that I think make a happy
home, husband, kids... a happy me. Because we all know that beds that are made equal bliss. NOT.

Those three little words mean "LET IT GO" to me.
They mean "SURVIVE." They mean "PAID TIME OFF."
They mean "QUIT TRYING TO HOLD IT ALL TOGETHER SO HARD."
Dear mom, sometimes your kids wake up on the wrong side of the bed, and sometimes you wake up
on the wrong side of the bed. Whether that makes you Godzilla or an emotional ship wreck - it's ok
to take a "breather"... all day long if necessary. Lower your expectations. Go ahead. Turn on Grey's
and eat a bon bon or 10. It's going to be ok. Bras are for weaklings.



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Are we friends??? Because we should be. Just saaaaayin'.


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