You get used to it… Because normal is just a setting on the dryer.

On Fridays, Gypsy Mama holds a blog carnival where we all stop and write for five minutes – no editing, no over-thinking, just write. Care to join us?

This week’s topic is: Real

When I saw today’s prompt, it made me think of The Velveteen Rabbit – the part where one of the other toys, I think it was the horse, is telling the rabbit about being Real, and how it hurts, but you don’t mind because you are Real, and how once you are Real, you can’t be ugly, except to people who don’t understand.

With this blog’s “new beginning”, I have been faced with a real struggle here on how real to be – it’s the Internet, it’s out there for everyone to see.  And while I’m not trying to build a brand or get a million readers or whatever…  I hesitate to scare anyone off or make them think less of me.  When I have been real in the past, I’ve met mixed  responses – from strangers, friends, and family.  Maybe I’m too real, or maybe I have too many sharp edges to become real – I just don’t know some times.

So here’s to being real.  My laundry is mostly caught up, but always thisclose to being a disaster. Currently, there are towels in the dryer, and clothes on my dining room table – the one we eat dinner at – waiting to be folded when I get home.  My living room looks like it was struck by the toy-pocalypse, even though I’ve cleaned it a dozen times this week. My mom and I are still not talking, almost a year later.  I had lofty intentions of doing crafts with Brianna last night, but after I found myself crying in the pantry because we were out of hamburger meat and I didn’t go to the store and so we couldn’t have tacos, I made tuna helper, helped Chad work with her on some writing, and set the kids in front of the TV for an hour while they climbed on me and I tried to read a magazine.  I yell far more often than I should.  My bathroom counter is a disaster, and even though I’ve tried to fix it, I can’t seem to keep it clear.  I plan a lot more than I do. STOP.

I could have written so much more. Being real is addictive, but also scary.