Dear Interwebz

So, I've started this blog approximately 53492 times. And my goal is to start with something witty. And attention grabbing.
Or at the very least explanatory.

I've decided against all of that. And go for rambling. With a lean toward introductory. Heavy on the sarcasm. With a dash of too tired to care.

I had a blog a few years ago where I dealt with the nightmare that was my (ok, our. I suppose the husband guy had his own inner demons to deal with. And by "inner demons", I mean "me") struggle with infertility. That sucked. But now we have the most awesomest little boy ever (Bubba) so I'm like totally over it. (Let's play "spot the lie")

What I'm not over? Being a mom. I had plans to be the bestest mom ever. Like ever, ever. I would do 13 dozen cookies, complete with hand piped soccer balls or footballs or ballet slippers or whatever my little guy was into for each and every holiday, bake sale, and play date. I would have perfectly clean and organized house (cue laugh track) at all times. Play dates at our house would involve fun, yet educational, art projects. We'd totally build the best towers. My child would have impeccable manners and be potty trained by 2. The terrible twos? Bite your tongue.

That's all well and good when you're, you know, NOT a mom.
Once the child comes screaming (or in Bubba's case, flying silently) into the world, you realize that most of your plans were actually just the list of things your kid will screw up. In a good way. I mean of this in a good way. I mean most of it in a good way. I'd really like to bake 13 dozen cookies. Cookies sound yummy right now.

I digress.
I love being a mom. I love my son with every fiber of my being. And some fibers not of my being. (Like wipes. I love him LOTS with wipes. He's a messy kid.) But I am not nearly the mom I planned to be. And while I can be cool with that most of the time, there are times I look at the sad, pancake like rainbow birthday cake I attempted and think "so not fair. I'm a good baker! AND? I need pictures for facebook!" (There will be no pictures. This time.)

But in the future, I plan to go for honesty and just show the stupid (but yummy. Oh, was it yummy. Dense and moist and almost brownie like in it's consistency. Yum yum yum.) pancake cake. I believe, no I know, I'm not the only mom who looks at the Pioneer Woman like she's either a Goddess or an Alien. Jury is still out. Either way, without a staff of 12, I will never measure up.

My house is a mess (or as I like to call it, "normal"). My kid often eats hot dogs for dinner and toast for breakfast. I have dog who will.not.freaking.just.SIT.already. And a husband who often has to remind me that he does, in fact, need to wear socks to work (A policy I find ridiculous) and he prefers them to be clean (also a policy I find to be ridiculous). And I cannot possibly be alone in this. Heck, just the other day we had to have playgroup at the park because nobody's house was clean enough. (Hey, PW, when was your last playgroup? Hmmmm??? Just sayin.) So this blog? Well, let's not call it a how to. More of a how not to hate yourself for pancake cakes.

Or, if you are one of the fab, 13 dozen cookie baking moms whom I curse (oh yes, there is cursing in this house. Damn skippy.), well, then you? Can just laugh in the face of your superiority.