I don't know how to say this in a way that isn't awkward, so I am just gonna go for it:
I am fine.
Really, I am totally OK. Sometimes I get comments or people talk to me about my blog (OK, like 4 people and my mom, but it happens!), and I get the impression they are worried about me. That I am over here drowning in a sea of self-loathing and bad-mom guilt. That I need to constantly be told that I am a good mom. Don't get me wrong, I love hearing people tell me I am a good mom or a good anything for that matter. Except a good cook. Then I know you are lying or have lost your sense of taste and we should get you to the hospital right away! I digress, but the fact of the matter is that I really do know that I am a good mom. I really am. I am just awkward.
And here is the thing about awkward; I like awkward. I have no intention of changing that about me anytime soon. Here is me at like age 2:
Rocking mismatched prints and loving on a cat.
I did the same thing earlier today.
At age 12, singing something with my cousin.
No, I do not know where I acquired such a fabulous shirt.
Yes, it was scanned crocked. Adds to the awkward.
Here I am last week,
awkwardly shoving my daughter into a horse's face.
I have a long history of being awkward. I am good at it; it's my superpower. And like all superpowers, it has a downside. Think about it; being telepathic means you are gonna hear some messed-up stuff. Sucks to be invisible when you want to take photos of yourself, right? Super strength and you are replacing a lotta stuff you accidentally broke. Nothing is awesome all the time and that holds true with awkwardness. Sometimes you are 13 years old and not popular and all the other girls are mean. Sometimes you are 35 years old and not popular and all the other moms are mean. Sometimes it can be lonely to be awkward. Sometimes I say the wrong thing and people don't understand and don't want to be my friend. Sometimes I trip and hurt my knee. Sometimes I try to be funny and it falls flat. Which sucks. But the thing is, that is only sometimes.
Most of the time, I am awkward and funny and real and kind and charming and fun to be around. I know this. But come on; who wants to read a bunch of blog posts with me saying, "well, you all know that I am awkward and funny and real and kind and charming and fun?" No one. That is who.
I want to relate. I want to share. I want to write stories. I want to tell you about this absolutely loony mom in Super Preschooler's class. Because I know you get it, and I know you will think it is funny. And who doesn't like to laugh? OK, well, I guess some people, but they are not right in the head. Let's just admit that straight off. And now, yes, I know that am self-deprecating in my humor; some of that is probably a self-esteem issue I should deal with, but mostly I think self-deprecating humor is funny. Because it is funny. People who walk around thinking (and saying) they are awesome and fabulous and everyone should be like them are not funny. They are jerks. And yes, I know that not everything has to be funny. But a lotta things are and laughing is good for you. I think more things should be funny. And I especially think that raising kids should be funny. Because it naturally is; a horde of tiny and delightfully weird people, who think the height of hilarity is to spin in a circle and fall down, are going to run your life hereafter. Come on! That is a laugh riot, and we want to waste it worrying about bedtimes and potty training and when so and so walked and which mom makes the best spinach-laced brownies? Well, I don't.
Here is the other thing about awkward; you are awkward. Yes, you. We are all awkward, with the exception of Perfect Mom, who actually is awkward, at night, in her room, when no one is looking. Which sounds dirty and I totally didn't intend it that way. But it came out that way BECAUSE I AM AWKWARD.
And it is OK. It's more than OK. It is pretty freaking awesome.
Come be awkward with me. It's fun. And I have brownies over here with no spinach in them. Just saying.
I love you all,
Yum! Just taste that awkward lack of spinach.
Again, sounds dirty. Sorry, not intended.