expectation vs reality

Expectation: My children will wake up washed, combed, dressed in sailor suits,saying 'yes mom of course we brushed our teeth.'

Reality: Kids wake up crabby, hair in knots wearing yesterday's clothes and fight me when I ask them to brush their teeth.

It never quite works out the way you want it to.  

And when it does it never feels as gratifying as you thought it would. 

 So basically you can't win.

Not to be a Debbie Downer or anything.  

I know it has to do with the whole 'life is full of surprises' and 'enjoy the moment' thing.  You know when you are at your lowest and someone reminds you how awesome life is and you kind of want to punch them in the vagina.

I am a Certified Vagina Puncher.

It's a joke my sister and I have.  Someone pisses off a member of my family and I say 'do you want me to punch them in the vagina?'

Fact: Certified Vagina Punchers know no gender.  At one time when you are a babe in womb you had both genitalia; sometimes you have to try a little harder to get there.

Expectation: You will feel awesome today.

Reality: You feel like shit today. 

And you swear it has nothing to do with the two (four) glasses of wine last night.  I have a one bottle a week limit.  Once the bottle is gone it's gone.
Make it last.
 It usually last two (one) nights.  And that's okay.
 Sometimes I go to a friend's house and we have a glass or two (or five).  That's okay too.  

I live in great fear of becoming an alcoholic, mostly because my family is swimming in them.  We aren't talking a kiddie pool.  Like double Olympic size pool swimming. 

I figure if I were to become one it would have already happened.  But you can never be too careful, right?

Expectation: Your (birth) mother will call you on your birthday.

Reality: Your (birth) mother doesn't call you on your birthday.

And it doesn't matter what you've said.  Or that your father reminds you she has never been a real mother.  And that he blessed you with another mom who cares about you and loves you and calls you on your birthday. 

It still hurts.  And it will always hurt.  Because at the end of the day the woman who gave birth to you should love you regardless and let all the problems go for one day and say "Hey remember that day I gave birth to you?  No? Well I do and it was awesome and so are you!"  

And even though the children have tangles and some days I feel like shit and my (birth) mother didn't call I keep telling myself that life is full is surprises and life is awesome.  And most of the time I don't want to punch myself in the vagina.