keeping it real

I've been reading some great blog posts this weekend about keeping it real in the blogosphere - the writers having healthy critical things to say about those bloggers who make out like their lives and families are delightfully blessed, creatively fulfilled, well-balanced organic eating never-squabbling homespun wearing 5 a day munching clean linen cut toenail sock matching no TV watching flop-free baking bubbles of 'hello cloud hello sky' pollyannaesque perfection.
You know the ones?

I do. And I admit to quite enjoying reading them for pure escapism, choosing to put from my mind that they are real people and instead regard them as fictional characters in a favourite TV show maybe, a chance to dip into someones life and hide for a moment from my own.
Other blogs I read for a healthy dose of realism, for the inspiration which comes from learning how others tackle their challenges, to share a laugh or an empathetic virtual hug about someones no good very bad horrible day.
My favourite blogs are honest enough to have a little bit of both.

But I do have standards, and those are to be always entertained, educated or informed. I don't just want to read someones moan about how hard life is, or how unrewarding parenting can be or how annoying people in general are. I feel all those things myself on occasion sure, but I save that moan for my husband (lucky guy hey?) or good friends who know me well enough to know I'm just having a grump and I'll get out of it soon enough. And know they can reciprocate with their own quibbles and quirks.

However, lest I ever be accused of being a 'perfect life' blogger (which you could be forgiven for thinking after reading this, but I hope you'll quickly counter-balance with this), allow me to tell you about ...

... the homemade granola I made recently. Sounds very homespun of me doesn't it? Until I tell you how I radically over-salted it, felt ill after the first bowl, had a big sulk about how nothing I cook ever works out properly and husband managed to save the day by picking out all the cranberries, rinsing the whole batch repeatedly and re-roasting it. We now eat homemade muesli for breakfast, not over-salted anymore, delicious in fact, but a little tainted by the foul language which was sprinkled over it.
... making paper-plate bats and blowing up balloons for what I thought was an inspired indoor game yesterday in the unseasonal foul weather which blew through Cape Town. I could tell you I didn't take photos because the light was so bad but the truth is I didn't because the house was SUCH a mess and both girls (and possibly some adults) were still in their pajamas at 3pm. I could tell you it was a roaring success and kept the kids entertained for hours but the truth is after two of the (very cheap) balloons popped in Sunday's face she was too freaked out to go anywhere near them again and after Friday melted down 'cos there was only one pink one (which popped, OBVIOUSLY) I was so over the whole game I let them watch TV for the rest of the afternoon.
... how exasperated I felt that Sunday's not interested in TV at all and preferred to follow me around begging me to read to her (how annoying)
... the play-dough we made (because OBVIOUSLY I voldermorted the last batch, which went dry and crumbly within hours of my writing poetry to its wonderfulness) which I didn't cook for long enough so it was all sticky and impossible to mould until I finally returned it to the (already cleaned) pot to cook it some more, burning my fingers while testing for the right elasticity ... I could tell you that pink is not the best choice of colour for play-dough, especially with my girls love of making long dough 'snakes' ...
... or I could tell you that I'm currently wearing the same clothes I've been in since early afternoon Saturday, the last time I got a chance to shower. I've even slept in them for TWO nights.

Ok, think I've done proving myself not to be one of those bloggers?
Can I go and have a shower now?
Ta.