My Family is Not Perfect

Phew!

There.  I’ve said it.

I was surfing the blogosphere and noticed a ridiculously large group of yammerings that were written by women purporting to be the matriarch of "The Perfect Family."  

They love absolutely everything about being a mom.  

They are married to the perfect man.  

Their kids are genetic freaks of nature with absolutely no faults.
These women apparently get up each morning to sunshine beaming in the window and the chirping of birds while their husband brings them breakfast in bed and their children play quietly after penning a scathing critique of Gerardus 't Hooft's Nobel Prize winning thesis "For Elucidating the Quantum Structure of Electroweak Interactions."

I know you were probably all labouring under the misconception that I’m a Sofía Vergara look-a-like, married to Brad Pitt meets Gerard Butler with a smidge of Daniel Craig, with a daughter whose beauty and good nature are only outdone by her supernova intelligence and dazzling social skills.

I hate to burst your bubble but that just isn’t true.

Scott isn’t Brad Pitt, Gerard Butler, or Daniel Craig.  He’s Scott.  He burps. He farts and blames it on the cat or (gasp) on our daughter.  He doesn’t rinse the sink properly when he shaves.  He has hockey gear that should be designated a bio hazard and burned in a sealed compartment for the safety of all mankind.  He tunes me out.

He tunes me out.  Me.  MEEEEE? 

Cripes.  How is that even possible?  I’m not the strong, silent type and I’m loud.  I’m assertive.  I’m brash and pushy more often than not I’m saying some pretty interesting shiiiit…or at least mildly amusing shiiiiit…or something that is really just shit to fill the silence.  Well, I can see why he might want to tune me out some of the time but it boggles the mind that he can actually achieve this...and achieve it he does.  On a regular basis.  Whether what I’m saying is important or not. 

Scott: How was I supposed to know that? You never told me…No, you didn’t… No, you didn’t.

Scott: You never mentioned you needed THAT.

Scott: What? When the hell did I agree to your going to Palm Springs for 5 days with your sister? (oops, I haven't mentioned that yet)

Scott: I don't remember agreeing to put our house on the market and why are those movers taking away my stuff?

Sigh.

No.  I’ve got a belching, farting, messy, toxic mess of a husband who tunes me out but I love him.  Apparently, that's my type.

I, however, am Sofía Vergara’s long lost twin and Brynn is perfection incarnate so hopefully that will help restore at least a smidgen of your faith in the blogosphere.
 

 Me or my slightly less attractive sister, Sofía?

Me, of course!