All these posts about my sweet children, loving husband and perfect birthdays. I don't write nearly enough about how thoroughly crap things can be and I think it's probably because I feel rather guilty complaining when really we have nothing to complain about. We have health, enough wealth, a house, a nice one too, jobs to go to in this ailing economy and good people and fortunes around us, but boy there have been some challenging days recently and if you could see the carnage we are creating and the emotional turmoil that follows as a result, you'd say this blog is a sham.
On the feeling-guilty-about-complaining note, I'm also getting rather tired of having to justify to myself why I shouldn't feel stressed or unhappy or sad or any of those things. Sure, I have plenty to be grateful for, but it's all relative isn't it? In the scheme of my life, our lives, there are things that are hard to deal with, and just because they wouldn't be hard for someone else, why should it be me to put them into context rather than complain just like everyone else?
So, it might be a sham, but I don't particularly want to remember the day Ollie kicked and screamed his way to sleep, or the day I was an hour late for work because both kids decided to poop their pants as we were leaving the house and I invariably got it on my smart work clothes, or the time Will and I didn't utter a word to each other all evening because I was a miserable, hormonal and unreasonably stressed wife with nobody to blame but herself (and maybe her job) for her bad mood... no thanks. I might not want to remember it but I will write about it every now and again, and I'm also going to be realistic about the relativity of it all because we're all allowed days on which to feel shit. And in between those days I'll write about what is good in life. Believe what you will, but the kids are sweet, my husband is loving and the birthdays are pretty much spot on.