Life isn't perfect.

My life is not perfect, nor will it ever be.  My life is not perfect, nor will it ever be.  My life is not perfect, nor will it ever be.

I keep running this through my head.  This may seem like a downer thing to be thinking when things get tough, but trust me, this is a positive thing for me. 

I don't know why, but in my head life must be perfect.  I need to be up at 4:30 every morning to work out, I need to be to work at 7 a.m., be able to assist anyone that asks for help at the office while doing my own work as well, be home by 3 p.m. to cook a home-cooked meal from scratch, do homework with the kids, get them to bed by 8 p.m., and then spend at least a few hours on house projects and hanging out with my husband.

If I do the math on this (which anyone that knows me, knows is not my strong suit), this schedule leaves me approximately 4.5 hours for sleep a night, exactly 8 hours for work, does not take into account drive time, nor does it include any time to keep myself sane.  Add time with friends, hosting parties, and general time to sit down, and apparently my days are at least 30 hours each!

So when things start to get crazy, I have to take a step back and remind myself that life isn't perfect, I'm not perfect, and the only person that expects me to be perfect, is me.  No one cares if the chip dip at the football party is homemade or from Costco!  And frankly, Costco's probably tastes better....

This is all a long-winded intro to my true point.  I can't continue to expect life to be perfect and I need to own up to the fact that it won't be.  To help me own up to this fact, I'm going to be more open here and talk about all of the crazy, ridiculous things that go on in my house on a day-to-day basis.  I'm going to warn you now that I have young children and some of these things may not be all too pleasant.  You have been warned. 

Lost Time!

So I haven't posted here in months.  In those months, I was offered, and accepted, a summer job in Germany.  I moved my entire family out of the country for two months and then plopped them back down in Minnesota when it was all over.  All in all, they seem to have adjusted to it all well.  I, however, haven't.  The kids see it as a fun summer we had abroad.  My husband sees it as a giant dollar sign that was a big bump in his road to finishing our basement.  I see it as a dream that was in my grasp but was pulled away far too quickly.  I realized, yet again, that I don't belong living in the US, that my heart is overseas, and that I still haven't found that ever-elusive "home" I've been searching for (which is why I started this blog in the first place).

I am going to try this whole blogging thing again.  I have a horrible track record on keeping up with this, but I want to try harder.  I also want to try swimming every morning, and start crafting more, and finish my basement, and sleep more, and be more productive.  I want to do a lot of things, but I know I can't do them all.  Ugh.  I am giving myself an anxiety attack.

So I guess what I need to say is that I will try harder to blog more, but that I make no promises.  I want to blog to help clear my head and make some order out of the chaos that is my brain, but if I am stressing about blogging, then it isn't helping.  This is a vicious cycle.