Mommy's a Hot Mess

Have you ever filled out an application for a job where it ask for a list of your hobbies? Or been on an interview where they ask “what do you do in your free time?”. If not try answering that question in your mind. No really what did you come up with? If you’re anything like me you would say “spending time with my kids” or “spending time with my family”….news flash genius that’s not a hobby…that’s life. So what’s my hobby? Hmmm….having a glass of wine…no wait that makes me sound like an alcoholic. Whose freaking hobby is drinking alcoholic beverages AKA Jesus juice AKA wine AKA liquid sanity AKA worst headache of your life but totally worth it?!? Not mine. Let’s try rewording the question…”What do you do to pass your time?”….Bueller? Bueller? Bueller?. Everytime I am asked those questions I want to scissor kick the person asking me and roundhouse myself at the same time. It’s a mixture of emotions….disappointed in myself for having no answer….guilt from being disappointed that I don’t have an answer. As a mother it’s natural adaptation to be willing to sacrifice yourself for your spawn. As a spouse it is natural adaptation to do whatever your spouse wants to do. You always hear about the physical sacrifice of parenting and the emotional side of parenting/marriage but no one ever talks about the anti social side. Friends will come and go. You will be invited to things but turn down invites because your child was up the entire night before head butting you and ripping out your hair, or the fact that your babysitter has stopped answering your calls and text because you’ve reproduced for the second time and ain’t nobody got time fo that. Maybe you and your spouse have had a long day at work and dont want to move off the couch all weekend. Or simply the fact that your ass doesn’t feel like conducting an act of freaking Congress to get 4 people bathed, dressed, packed (yes packed as in a suit case only with a suit case you just throw stuff in it…a diaper bag you have to make stuff and pack 4 outfits for explosive diapers, spills or unexpected trips to somewhere nicer than Walmart because you’re finally out of the house and baby we gonna do it big) just to go to someones cookout where one of my children is bound to lose their ever loving mind an hour into it while I shoot their father death stares through the backyard window as he conversates in peace and I’m sweating like a snowman in hell.  Maybe from embarrassment, maybe from anxiety, maybe from the bouncing and the 25 lb kid, maybe a mixture of all. With all of that being said I wouldn’t change it for the world. Call me crazy (I get called that often) You may wonder why. ..Because these nights that I am awake every 45 minutes rocking my baby back to sleep will be something I yearn to do again one day. These nights of doing homework and playing with my oldest daughters hair while we lay on the couch watching “our shows” will be a memory I cling to. So for now I will accept that my hobby is going to the restroom and turning on the fan as if I am planning on using the restroom and watching makeup tutorials on YouTube while I sit on the side of the tub and enjoy that daddy is on babysitting duty for those 10 minutes (for the most part even though my littles fingers are peaking out from under the door or I’m being asked 50 questions from my oldest through the door)(I wouldn’t put that on a job application for the record). I am content on not having alone time. Because through these years of being a parent/spouse I have lost part of my self sufficiency, I need them as much as they need me and I am OK with that. There will come a day where alone time is all I have….and when that day comes I want to make sure I have a journey with my children to look back on. My hobby is my family and my family is my life. Never have ill feelings because you can’t do all the things you should be able to do…the things you used to do….the things you feel you deserve to do. There will be plenty of time for that later…..more than you or I will probably want. So for now be hobby less. Don’t allow any free time. Completely consume yourself with your loved ones and keep on chugging along the hot mess express. Stay crazy my friends.

Well a hot mess takes on it’s own identity depending on what and who it pertains to. I am southern and to be quite frank, when I use the term “hot mess” to describe someone or something I am envisioning a surface level disaster. Like flesh colored leggings being worn at the grocery store or toilet paper attached to your shoe while walking through a board meeting of people who already don’t take you seriously.  Nothing that causes direct harm to anyone or anything other than your ego or how some may perceive the hot mess as a societal skid mark. I am a flawed individual like most of you but instead of trying to hide it I have decided to wear it like a pageant sash with big ass letters that read “Queen of Hot Mess USA”. Its the thought that counts right? The fact that I make a conscious effort to live up to societal standards? As if my dishes aren’t currently piled so high they’re falling onto the counter and there may or may not be something growing on one or two of them. As if my pinky toe may or may not be broken currently from running into the bar stool at 2 AM this morning fumbling through the dark with my one non dried out contact eye open trying to make a bottle for my almost 2 year old who should be off the  bottle already (all while my spouse sleeps so peacefully). As if I live a perfect life, stress free with loads of money, the perfect family and job. The sooner you become realistic with yourself and that you can only do your best will be the soonest you can learn to embrace your inner hot messness. (Pretty sure I just made that word up but it works. Whatever.) So cheers to this blog and my crazy ass life and you hoping on board the Hot Mess Express…CHOO CHOOOOOOOO.