I sat through a blog workshop recently where the facilitator told us in order to gain traffic to our blog, we needed to be authentic. That made me uncomfortable. I don’t want to be authentic. I like you, as my reader, to think I have it all together. I don’t want you to know that I yelled at my Monkey this morning and sent her to school with her thinking I hate her. I love her dearly and would walk in front of a moving train for her. But after chewing her out for lying to me about brushing her teeth, I yelled. An ugly yell. I can’t stand being lied to. But I can’t stand having her at school thinking not brushing her teeth is the end of my rope. And the anxiety it’s causing me is eating a hole in my stomach.
I dont’ want you to know that there is mud all over my back porch. And it’s not just dirt. We live on a hog farm. It’s from the bottom of The Farmer’s boots. I’ll give you one guess on what kind of special dirt it is. I just can’t find a free 15 minutes to mop the porch.
I don’t want you to know there is an ironing board sitting in my dining room with 4H project fabric on it. Fabric my Panda is using to practice making a skirt. It’s been sitting here for a week. The fabric got washed but never got ironed or cut out to actually start working on a skirt.
I don’t want you to see that there is corn in my carpet. Yep. Actual field corn. Last fall The Farmer brought a few ears of corn in the house so the Little Man could play farm. That corn is still being combined into the carpet on a nightly basis. 
See this farm setup? That is holding all the corn, that isn’t scattered around the living room floor.
And I really don’t want you to see my laundry. I know we all struggle with laundry. But I feel mine is insane. Three baskets in my bedroom plus a load on top of the dryer that needs folded. Then there are the dirty hog clothes in another corn of the laundry room. It never ends.
So how’s that for authentic? Most days I feel like I am drowning. I admit to being a touch OCD. With a good dose of chaos thrown in. It’s not perfect around here. But I’ll come to accept it, someday.
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