I'm a real mom. I have real kids. They make real messes. They cry real tears. They really stink sometimes. They really play. They can be really naughty. They can be really good, too.
I'm a real mom. My shirts have spit-up, this morning's oatmeal and Lord knows what else on them. My real kids have real sticks, real sand and real dirt under their fingernails, in their shoes and in their hair. They have real stains on their shirts from real markers and real paint. Their sneakers are full of real mud. Their knees are stained with real grass and wearing in spots. Their faces have real ketchup streaked across their cheeks. Their hair isn't really cut, it's most likely uneven, uncombed and fuzzy from that real nap they just had (if they really take naps).
I'm a real mom. My rugs have real crumbs and real cat fur on them. My towels are not in real sets anymore and are mismatched. My washcloths have real stains from wiping real faces and real bums (but not at the same time). My real sheets are not real expensive, probably from a real deal at Wal-mart. My furniture has real dust. My windows have real handprints on them. My floors are littered with real toys. My house isn't ever going to be really sparkling clean and picked up. (Come back in 18 years, try then.)
I'm a real mom. We have real fun. We make real mudpies and real sandcastles. We make real messes. We make believe and really let our imaginations run wild. We practice real manners and sometimes really fail. We can be real sweet and real bad in the same breath. We eat real meals and make real mounds of laundry and dishes. We don't buy real expensive stuff but save for the real important things.
I'm a real mom. I make real mistakes. I love real hard. I hurt real hard. I try real hard. I live real hard. I live in this real world with my real husband and my real kids. There is no plastic, sterile bubble around us, and we really like it that way. We fill our world and our lives with real memories, not real fancy things. We really love our life and each other. I'm a real mom.
where's that copyright button?