My 85-year-old grandfather reads my blog. "I can't understand why you're so depressed," he says. "Depressed? I'm not depressed," I sputter. "You sound depressed on your blog," he replies.
I like the warts and all approach to blogging. I like sarcasm and hyperbole. I like to recount the moments in my day when my children are especially sassy and I like to use phrases like "stab myself in the eye" and "boil myself alive."
But I guess I am leaving the wrong impression.
That's why I changed the blog background color to white. To show the lightness of my psyche. The snowy innocence of my days.
Seriously though, I just can't be one of those bloggers that only takes pictures of her freshly baked bread and vase of shasta daisies in the window. I can't condense motherhood into staged snapshots of artistically arranged tomatoes with blond toddlers cavorting nearby. I've got one of those, but she also bites her sister when she's not allowed to open the toilet lid and I've got Play-Doh in my carpet and I haven't washed my sheets in three weeks. Okay, four.
But I'm not depressed. I'm just keepin' it real, people. Keepin' it real.