Just call a plumber. The Draino is not worth it.

After moving here a friend I have known before who was
posted here a year earlier, she asked me how I can be so eloquent about
the things I write about, how I don’t get mad like she does, or how it sounds like I can just roll with everything that comes my way.

And I laughed.  

And laughed.

This, this here on this computer screen?  This isn’t reality.

We all have different days. 

Some days you are telling the world that 7 months isn’t that long and it will be over soon enough.

And other days you are already having a mid-deployment meltdown at 2 weeks when the washing machine breaks and the car needs repairs and your son just poured a bag of pebbles down the kitchen sink.

Some days you know that you can take on the birthday party by yourself with one hand tied behind your back. Sure.  Invite more kids.  Bring it on.

And other days you are hiding in a bathroom from 15 kids on a sugar crazed rampage in your own home cursing him for not being there to help.

 Some days you are telling the kids how big of an adventure it is they are getting to take and how fast they will make new friends.

And other days you are having a hard time getting out of bed because you hate every single thing about a city that you haven’t even given a chance.

Some days you are hugging your DH and smiling at him and telling him
that you wouldn’t have it any other way, that it’s not a big deal, that
you can do this, that it’s going to be OK.

And other days you are throwing (relatively soft) things in his general direction when he gives you yet another prospective departure date.

Some days you are giving respectful and heartwarming words about how every one’s experiences are their own and there is no need for us to turn our lives into hardship competitions.

And other days the voice in your head is ripping a new one on the soldier who hasn’t even finished his trade training before he got himself his new free ‘Veteran’ licence plate.

Some days, you are sitting at your computer ready to take on the world, writing amazing posts about how strong you are going to be as you are called to do things alone, as you are caused to move across the country, as you take on things that you have never done before.

And other days you are curled up on the floor of the bathroom because you are absolutely positively sure that you are in no way equipped to take on anything else.  Ever.

The truth is, the reason I look like I handle life eloquently is because you don’t see me at my worst.  

You only see me at my best.

And lets face it, if this is my best, well,  you have seen posts on mid-course meltdowns, blender explosions, broken collarbones I dismissed as overreactions and that time I threw a pregnancy test at DH…. so apparently I am not even good at pretending I have it all together.

The same way every sane woman on facebook only tags herself in pictures where she looks significantly hotter than she does in real life, I write about the things that I wish I did/thought/said/believed all the time.


And the picture thing.  I do that too.

There is only one person on earth who sees it all, and he knew what he was getting into.

When we were dating, he lived in the single quarters on base, for a while in shared rooms with other soldiers.  And on the odd night, those soldier’s… guests.

He called me once from there all shocked and said. ‘I’m so glad you don’t wear much make-up’.

And I thought to myself…. really?  Cause usually it’s just because I forget.  I probably should start to wear more….

But he continued ‘there was just a girl in here, I saw her when she got here and then again when she came back from the shower…. I thought she was a different person!  I didn’t even know make-up could DO that!’.

Apparently I don’t do make-up right.

But that makes sense, I don’t do most things about public perception ‘right’.

I’m too loud when I should be quiet.

I talk about things when I should keep them to myself.

I cry when I should be silent.

I laugh awkwardly when I should be still.

The internet, it’s kind of like make-up.  We can pick all the pictures that make us look the best, and post all the things we wish we were like all the time, but in the end someone is going to see us after we take a shower and wash all the bullshit off.

I do the internet about as well as I do make-up.  When I’m wearing it, it looks good.  But then most days I realize I’m already out and about and I didn’t even remember to put mascara on.

So if for one moment you read something I write and think I have anything together….
go back and read the post where I accidentally send my military escort to my coat to get my car keys that I had put with my tampons.

Anyone can look composed on the inter webs, but that’s only because you can’t see the times they are sitting on the floor of their kitchen crying because they tried to use Draino to fix their dishwasher. (FYI: lesson learned a few years ago….. that only makes things much, much worse).

http://www.goodhousekeeping.com

 *Not my dishwasher, but accurate representation*

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