What it says

I read quite a few blogs.

Not as many as I used to read because I periodically get fidgety with the amount of time spent on the internet and all the other things I could accomplish if I just spent LESS time on the internet.  And I don't read them every day...I have a few (3 to be specific) that I check every morning, the others I look in on once or twice a week.

Today was one of those days when I was reading a blog of a woman I know of but don't know particularly well.  And I was marveling at how her house is always perfect, she gardens and travels and her kids are always well dressed and she makes the amazing meals and hosts these fabulous parties and photographs all of it. 

Of course, it doesn't help that this has been a discouraging/depressing couple of weeks.  But I found myself shaking my head and asking why I don't do more stuff like that.  And wondering if THAT--all of that fancy-pantsyness is what really defines us, and makes us some how worthy of respect or attention or love or whatever you want to call it.

And, are you ready for it?  Here's my big conclusion.

Nope.

Because what we put on our blogs or facebook is like the clothing we choose to wear.  It's just advertising.  It's sign-age.  It's the statement of what we want Everyone Else to believe about US.  It's not necessarily a true statement of who we are as people, because--and let's be honest here--how many of us can narrow down who we are as people to fit the parameters of a BLOG?  It's just not possible. 

And there is a part of me that wishes that my house were cuter or bigger.  That my life were more creative and filled with adorable little things that everyone would love.  That I threw big, fancy dinner parties and had a million friends.  But people, and I can't emphasize this enough, that's not ME.  Which is probably why I wish for them but don't actually HAVE them.  When you boil M down to the bones there is nothing there that would have a fancy, artsy house or dinner party.  You know what you find when you come here?  Comfort.  Books.  Conversation.  Relaxing music and baked goods.  And usually a million toy cars strung from one end of the living room to the other.  And cat fur--EVERYWHERE. 

I might wish for more prettiness in my life.  I might wish for things that I don't have.  But I also wish for more than 24 hours in a day and for the ability to switch life into slow motion to enjoy it more fully, I wish I could press pause in the Boy's life to make a particular phase last a little longer.  I wish I could stop aging and just stay this age for a good long while.  Which means that I guess I save my wishing for things that are totally and unequivocally impossible.