Keeping It Real
Snapchat has become my new favorite social media distraction. Why? Sure, the filters are fun. It never gets old being a puppy dog who licks everything in sight. But the truth is, it’s because it’s the only social platform where I feel comfortable showing my worst self. And it’s kind of refreshing! We all show our glossed up selves on Instagram; the best of the 76 pics you took at that birthday party… that’s what makes the Insta cut. Facebook is where we peacock — you know, puff out our chests, share our accomplishments, preach our beliefs and boast our parental wins, for the most part. Twitter is where we want to be noticed — where we try to be funny or relevant in every conversation, just to get a retweet. But Snapchat… Snapchat is where we can show ourselves looking like shit, feeling like shit, and saying shitty things. Snapchat is where we can document all the things that irk us. Where we can take drunk pics. Where we can capture how much our kids suck sometimes without feeling like we’re going to lose our “Parent of the Year” awards. Because hey, it disappears in 24 hours, right? A girl has no name. A girl has no face. A girl has no complaint.
So today, I’m going to practice what I preach over on Snapchat, and boldly go where no mom with half a brain has gone before. I’m going to share some of my best-kept-to-myself thoughts:
Gemma hits me. That’s right, my darling little two-year-old angel who looks sweet as pie is going through a phase where she likes to slap her mama and laugh about it. And I don’t know what to do.
Speaking of Gemma, I’m just not motivated to potty train her, and I know it’s terrible and lazy, so sue me. I’m tired.
I ate 1/3 a bag of Cool Ranch Doritos today, after seeing my therapist. That is all.
I put on a deep cleanse face mask last night, then got into the bathtub, then applied it again, because I had forgotten that I’d already done it. I must have Alzheimer’s. (Note to self: Book appointment with a neurologist, if I can remember to do so.)
I’m wearing yoga pants and have no intention of doing yoga.
Quinoa is gross AF. There, I said it. And I don’t want it in my muffins or my oatmeal or my pizza crust, you overachieving food bloggers, you. I wish people would stop talking about this grain as if it’s some “Good Parent” badge of honor. I grew up eating regular old starchy white rice and I’m just fine. And you are too.
Keep it real, y’all.
