The Truth Of The Matter

Recently Scrappitydoodah wrote about seemingly perfect unschooling families who have children that fill their days with nothing but impeccable manners and brilliance. She wants to know how she can sign up for such an arrangement.

HA! Have you seen that picture being passed around, the one with the picture of the two kids standing in the middle of a living room where they apparently just finished painting the flat screen TV and leather sofa with white primer? It’s appropriately titled “Times When It’s Okay To Use The F Word”.

Yeah, we have days like that. When you find Perfectville, let me know. I try to keep an upbeat perspective when I write my blog posts, but there are moments when I want to sell the whole package on eBay. I’ve even wrote the perfect ad copy in my head:

FOR SALE: One incredibly small, unbelievably disorganized house, fully furnished with a truly lived-in look, complete with two argumentative kids, one exhausted husband, two needy dogs, a few ungrateful cats, a cranky rabbit, and a weedy yard. All can be yours for a low, low price!

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4 Responses to The Truth Of The Matter

  1. Lizard Eater says:

    Oh, Thank God. I thought it was just me. All the way down to the weedy yard. And the Homeowner’s Association Busy-Body coming down to my house to lecture me, while the cat runs out, the baby follows the cat, the toddler follows the baby …

  2. Kris says:

    Maybe we could offer a two-for-one deal?

  3. tara says:

    This post is hysterical. I’ve seen that white primer spill photo as well, and had similar days.

  4. justfrank says:

    Hey, I take exception to this post! My kids are always perfect. At least that’s what I am told by the parents of the children whom they are visiting…
    Seriously, in our own house I had occasion to use the F word when we were all packed up and practically in the van for a two week road trip, and I discovered that someone had left an uncovered cup of chocolate milk on the top shelf in the refrigerator. The way I discovered this, was that I knocked it over. Guess what happened next?
    My daughter, describing the scene to her grandma, said with dismay: “Mommy said f…!”
    Your house sounds like my house.