Sometimes

Once upon a time, oh in say 2008, I stumbled upon a poem a long ago ex-girlfriend of hubs wrote about him AFTER he was married to me. Some of you may remember me ranting and fuming about it for hours days after. Well, being the savvy wife-who-never-forgets-a-thing kinda girl that I am, I stumbled upon this literary trainwreck she called a poem in some long forgotten computer file of mine I had of-so-cleverly named "nonsense from Ugly Betty" (Yea, yea, I know.)

Anyhoo...

While her "poem" titled "Sometimes" was all about losing that one perfect man that no other will ever measure up to (obviously she was seeing hubs thru rose tinted glasses, cause let me tell you, he's not oh-so-perfect like she seems to think. Have I ever mentioned that putting dirty laundry in the hamper goes against everything hubs stands for?) The poem painfully lurks along whining about how she probably can not go on (LIES! Shes still around) because she handed her fragile heart to hubs only to have him toss it aside for yours truly. (Did I mention I met him FOUR YEARS after he unceremoniously dumped her like a bad habit for catching her in a state of undress with another man?) Moving right along...

Her sentences that don't rhyme poem made me start to think. No, not about how hubs is perfect, *giggling to myself about that one** but about what I would write if I decided to make a blog entitled "Sometimes" using sentences that didn't rhyme. Here goes....

"Sometimes"

Sometimes, I wait days before I fold my clean laundry.

Sometimes, I order take-out instead of going to the grocery store.

Sometimes, I dream about telling certain people what I really think of them to their face.

And instead I put it in a blog that they may or may not read.

But I'm not stopping there.

Sometimes, I go to bed hungry. Because hubs made an off handed remark earlier in the day about my "big ole butt" right before slapping it.

Sometimes, or rather, quite often, I go shopping. Because it makes me feel better about a bad day.

And every now and again, I don't like my life. Because my kids drive me crazy and I daydream of being on an island. A deserted one.

Scared yet?

I am. A little.

But I'm still not done.

Sometimes More often than not, my purse is more cluttered than most diaper bags.

And sometimes I skip shaving my legs for days and have to sneak off and do it real quick when hubs comes home from work and can't seem to stop following me around the house looking for attention only a wife can give him.

And, I'm not even going to say "sometimes" on this one.... because I never vacuum under my furniture.

Actually, I don't vacuum. Ever. I pay two ladies that are far older than me and probably way more over worked and tired than I am to do it.

Sometimes, I feel like I am wrong for that.

I'm afraid of needles, not sometimes, but always.

Sometimes I have little patience.

I let hubs hang a really big T.V. in my bedroom, when I really wanted it to be a quiet sanctuary. And sometimes I wish I hadn't

Sometimes I wear ugly underwear, because the sexy lace ones just seem less than comfortable.

Sometimes I think married couples who brag about being "overly sexually active" are lying.

Sometimes my socks don't match and I could care less.

I don't know how to cook and sometimes I feel like I should make an effort to learn.

Sometimes I mentally balance my checkbook in church.

You still with me? Still wanna know what the heck is going on around here?

Here's the thing: I've been emboldened.

I've been bolstered by the seeming obscurity of the world wide web and doubt anyone is interested in what I say, so why not be open, brutal, nitty-gritty and sometimes-painfully honesty?

You see, blogging has created an outlet where I can just say what comes to my mind. And then I can turn off the computer and wander off to watch the Oxygen Channel.

And why not?

Sometimes, you just have to say what's on your mind, even if no one is home to hear you.

And guess what else.

Sometimes, I crave chicken wings and hot dogs more than I crave salads.

And sometimes, I wear old, ratty sweatpants to bed, even though my husband hates them.

And yet, I don't know if you all know that.

I don't know if you all know that sometimes, I cry when I find out one of you is pregnant, because I am so happy.

I don't know if you all know that sometimes, I spend a lot of money on cute designer clothes when I probably should put extra money on my student loans.

And sometimes, I look around and wonder how I got here. And if my kids will be screwed up because I divorced their dad.

Maybe I'm self-censoring. Maybe I'm playing my own version of "Keeping Up With The Joneses." And maybe I should just put my full-on reality out there for you all to see.

Because really, while I want my girlfriends to come to my blog and find laughs and love, I also want you all to come here and find truth.

My truth. All of our truths.

And not just because we all need to say them, but because sometimes, we all need to hear them.

We need to hear that we all are self-conscious; that we all drink too much coffee; that we all are too tired to humor our husbands sometimes.

Sometimes we need to hear it.

To know we're not alone. To know that in all honesty, there's nothing wrong with any of us. To know that any blog "rant" or "vent" will be accepted and forgiven if necessary.

Because we're all human.

And we're not perfect. And neither are our husbands, no matter what some obsolete ex-girlfriend might choose to believe.