Other people get more done and do it wearing designer kitten heels. Other people prepare gourmet meals while working around the clock designing glorious fabric. Some of them do an hour of an obscure form of yoga, restock their Etsy shop with vintage babies' clothing, then home school their five children before teaching a sewing class in an underprivileged neighbourhood. They are organised, proactive, stylish and creative. Other people are amazing. Except they don't really exist outside of the blogosphere; unless they have a freakish amount of energy and need little to no sleep. Or paid help
There's something akin to Second Life about blogging. We're constructing a version of ourselves with every piece of information we share or leave out. In some respects it's just as well...how boring to read a blow by blow account of my day. But I do love the occasional 'behind the scenes' blog from someone I admire. Take Meg, for instance. A warm, prodigious, generous mother who sews and snaps and blogs. But she is not above sharing the reality of busy family life. I love her for it. Reading another of my favourite blogs, Bleubird, I discovered more 'real life' pictures. I tell 'ya, I feel a lot better having seen that.
I'm not going to post photos of my mess, aside from these. In fact, I mostly do neat, un-photogenic mess. Think five baskets of folding all gaily lined up on the dining room floor, rather than laundry strewn about. A tower of paperwork on my desk but not higgeldy piggeldy. Just as disorganised and labour intensive to sort through, but less interesting to look at. Anyway, instead of photos, can I interest you in a tour of my day? Just a normal, "How did I get nothing done AGAIN today?" kind of day.
6.30am Begrudgingly roll out of bed, trying to walk the ten steps to our bathroom without bruising myself. Tablets, shower, clothes, make-up, hair, then coffee delivery by Husband of the Year (17 consecutive years!).
7.00 Make lunches in poorly-concealed, poor humour. (Thanks heavens Killer is staying around a little longer these days. No child should be left alone with Grumpy Mummy until she's been awake for at least an hour)
7.45 Start yelling about shoes still not on, hair still not brushed, pyjamas still lying on the floor.
8.00 The inevitable falling apart of our well-timed drive to school. The most common scenarios: Twirly has sport but is fully dressed in her formal uniform. Superboy has news and is having a meltdown about what to take. Sparkly is finding the toe seam in her socks unbearable and is now crying/yelling/slamming doors. Geronimo has decided to play outside with muddy water necessitating a change of clothes. Von has forgotten that the cleaner is coming and is racing frantically around the house gathering up the correct money for her. A library book is missing. A music book is missing. School shoes are missing. Despite owning 76 water bottles, there are none to be found for the little vonerable's school bags. The car keys are missing. Homework is missing. And, by this stage, any shred of humour or graciousness is missing, presumed dead.
I'm already bored with this so I won't subject you to the remainder of my Representative Day. I need to go and watch the Good Wife and get stuck into those five baskets of laundry. No, make the three, thanks to the Folding Fairy (my Mum has been here!).
I wish I knew who you all were because I'd love to tell each and every one of you why you are more than you think. It gets hard to keep sight of greatness imbued by God when you're wiping toothpaste off the couch again. I mean, what sort of mother lets her little ones wander around when they're brushing their teeth? Maybe one who was so tired when the tooth brushing started that she couldn't bear the thought of having to stand up in the bathroom to supervise?
