Last night I watched Julie/Julia. I believe it was the 2nd or 3rd time. Hubby was on his way home from NYC and refuses to watch this movie with me again after he learned that the author cheated on her husband. To me that detail feeds into the fantasy of fame. I mean who wouldn't get a big head if your crappy life turns into a successful novel and then a movie starring Meryl Streep and Amy Adams?
    This got me contemplating the meaning of life... okay not the REALLY meaning of life, but why people love to blog and read blogs. I won't pretend that my revelation applies to everyone. I instead think I represent a strong minority. I believe we love blogs because they simultaneously make us feel important and connected. We can speak to those we love by sharing our day to day joys, frustrations, and victouries. We can spout off on a topic we deem vital, and we can vent when we feel low. When we need to know we are not alone in a situation, reading about someone else's kid/marriage/cooking struggles gives us that sigh of relief that says "I'm not crazy, I'm okay, and I can get through this."
    I have a blog that I like to read. I check it everyday and if the blog has not been updated, I have been know to cyber stalk it until it does. Why do I like this particular blog so much? Well, the author is a mom with several kids for starters. She has done some pretty cool things so far in her life, and she just keeps going. The author of this blog is following her passion while still being able to keep the equilibrium of family and friends. She has balance. For all of these and probably countless more; she falls into my category of "supermom". This title is reserved for those women who seem to be able to do it all. They have beautiful, clean, no dishes in the sink homes. Their kids always look to have clean laundry. They plan and execute amazing parties of all varieties, and they are well rested, impeccably dresses, and they leave the house.
    This is my illusion. My holy grail of motherhood. You see I'm not that mom. I wish I was and sometimes I get myself down because I'm not. In my house we have pajama day. This is a day we never get dressed or leave the house. I like these days. Sadly, we have them a bit too much. I try to keep the dishes from piling up, but with 3 kids who have their daddy's appetite it's a hard thing to do. Even when I get the dishwasher loaded, there is ALWAYS something left in the sink be it a spoon, cup, or pan. While I love my life and truly understand how blessed I am to be living it; I still want more from myself and for myself. I want to start dancing again, but the devil on my shoulder keeps whispering in my ear countless reason why I can't. I want to go back to school, but I don't know why. I want to travel spontaneously. I want to walk into my closet and find the idea outfit for any occasion.
    Most of these are silly things. They are the insecurities of my unbalanced scales. They are the fears of what I'm passing along to my girls. As a mother, I don't want to make mistakes. I know that is the dumbest thing I can say because I am human and thus flawed. So I end this solemn moment by basking in the light I am embraced in each morning. The utter joy of three little ones crawling into my bed to snuggle. Each craving my closeness and wanting nothing more than to just be.