fake

these days leave me lacking. sitting at a computer for hours upon hours, scanning documents for grammatical errors, hoping the pain in my left wrist doesn’t get worse, or better yet that it goes away.

summer is upon us. mommy blogs burst with ideas of fun things to do at home, paint idyllic pictures of parents working side by side with children, everyone smiling, getting along, having picnics in the grassy backyard, on a blanket spread with finger foods of shape fruit kabobs and chicken satay. dessert is popsicles, homemade of course, and the children wear white as they hold their raspberry frozen delights, frolick around, and everything is clean. pure. quiet.

it all screams fake!

is it that i want it to be an unachievable fantasy?

where i’m standing it’s more of: backyard is so full of sand and weeds that even the dog won’t stay out there long. sun blazes down, burning our scalp after being exposed for more than 5 minutes. kids dress themselves in t-shirts i let them buy from goodwill, refuse to wear any of the “cute” shirts in their drawers. back deck boards are bending upward, cracking, splitting nails straining to get out, danger everywhere. inside there are loud, loud, loud sounds, singing, whistling, yelling “get out of my room!” slamming doors, asking repeatedly why can’t we have more computer time? because i’m working. why are you always working? so we can eat. when will you get a break?

yes, that’s the question that looms large over me. hangs over me. makes me feel most days like i am on the verge of tears, and i don’t much cry anymore. so why am i feeling like this? i want to cling to that gratefulness that we are ok, that life is relatively ok despite the circumstances.

and then i see these families, these perfect-looking families, and i wrestle with “i want to be them” and “i hate them.”