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My Life Is Not Insta-worthy and That’s Okay
Let’s go on a walk through my house. My house in inhabited by my wife and I and three small humans that we’ve created over the last twelve+ years of marriage. We have a gorgeous kitchen table with a distressed look that would be perfect for posting various pictures to Instagram. But in reality our table is always covered with a plastic table cloth to make cleaning up daily spills an easier task. If you dare to peek underneath the table you will find the remnants of breakfast. And maybe lunch. And maybe dinner. Trying to keep the floor under the table clean is akin to Sisyphus rolling a boulder up a hill only to have it roll back down.
If you look at our walls you’ll find some really cool posters that reflect the nerdiness of my wife and I. We have Firefly posters (BROWNCOATS UNITE!) and Star Trek posters spread throughout the main floor and basement of our house. We also have family pictures and a few of my better attempts at photography. But underneath those pictures are some masterpieces of modern art. I’m talking about crayon, marker, pencil, and dirty hand prints all over the walls from about 18 inches to 36 inches in height. In fact, at eye level when you walk in our front door is a family photo from last fall and directly below it are the scribbles of one of our small humans tracing the outline of an air vent. We like to make sure that people know what they are…
