Isn't It Ironic...

I'm sure you all know what I'm talking about when I allude to the "domestic perfection blogs" - 'cause I'm sure you've stumbled across them, too.

You know the ones that I mean - the ones where you stop, and you inwardly sigh. The blogs where the homes are so gorgeous, and the recipes and the crafts always turn out perfectly, the decorating is impeccable, and the children are darling and adorable and never burp in public*.

In case you haven't noticed this yet, *this* is not one of those blogs...

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Yesterday, I wrote:

And really, when you think about it - sweet and fun (and squeaky clean)?
It's not a bad way to start off the year...

And I wrote it in all seriousness.
Because I do believe that.
It's just that the reality around here? It's a little bit different.

Let me tell you how yesterday shook out. (Please see "Editor's Note" below)
Dig if you will the picture....

I'm getting Schecky ready for school. He's fed. He's dressed. His teeth are brushed, his shoes are on. All that stands between us and the door is combing his hair.

Which I do.

GAH!

BUGS!

Yup. The Scheckster has head lice.
(His school has had a horrific problem with them this winter, and so far, he'd dodged that bullet. Our luck, it seems, had run out. GAH!)

So I jot an email to his teacher letting her know not to expect the boy, and race out to the drugstore to buy some de-bugging stuff.

That was Thing Number One.
(Not to be confused with ThingOne)

Thing Number Two -
(Not to be confused with ThingTwo)

I return home from the drugstore, to be greeted at the door by Bubba, bearing bad news. His father had just called: Gaga, Bubba's last remaining grandparent, had just passed away.
(This was sad news, but not wholly unexpected. She was doing fine when we saw her at Christmas, but in the first week of the New Year contracted pneumonia, and deteriorated shockingly quickly.)

I come in the house, throw Schecky in the shower to get him started with the debugging process, and walk Bubba to his car.

When I notice that my car - which was FINE for the trip to the drugstore - now has a flat tire. This is my car which I just got new tires for in November. This is my car which we need for the drive up to Tennessee to be with family.

This is Thing Number Three - the thing that threatens to send me over the edge.

I indulge in a moment of self-pity: "It's hard trying to be an optimist when life keeps kicking my ass," I inwardly grouse. "It's not even Nine Freaking O'Clock!"

Then I tell myself to snap out of it.
I remind myself that none of these things are earth-shattering.
Frustrating, yes. Some of them emotional and sad, yes.
But none of them are devastating.

I remind myself of one of my favorite pictures on Flickr - and I carry on.

And I spend the rest of the day making travel plans, dealing with the tire, and de-lousing my child. (and let me just say - that's a WHOLE LOT OF LOVE right there.)

And there is a light at the end of the tunnel, you know?
Bad things really do tend to happen in threes - so there was none of that pesky "waiting for the final shoe to drop" nonsense.

And there's this:




Many of you already know about my so-called luck with fortune cookies. Those that don't, you can educate yourself here.

This was a nice one to get today.

And it's particularly apt. I'm notoriously bad at asking for help, and even worse at accepting it. So this is a good reminder for me. I might even have to frame it.

And now we're off to Tennessee.
Be back soon...


***Edited to add:***

I told myself that I wasn't going to blog about this. (Which just goes to show how much my word to myself means...) But I think I'm already in a position to laugh about this.

And so please know that this is how you should read this.

I'm not looking for sympathy, or to whinge on about how bad I've got it.
It's just a somewhat wry reflection on life here at the House That Crazy Built.
(And would you look at that? It's the bossy little voice! Now it's telling you how to read my posts. Gah! Stupid bossy little voice...)

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*And yes, I know, I know - those blogs are every bit as much a fantasy as the Pottern Barn Kids catalog. It's just the face that these bloggers choose show the world. I know that. But sometimes I do buy into the fantasy that somewhere, somehow, someone has managed to achieve the wholly, truly gracious life.