to live in a magazine

i don't know if everyone feels this way, but i always have this lingering feeling like i'm living two lives. there's the one that's in my head, and then the other one. the one i'm actually living. the first one i can see a glimpse of every time my kitchen is spotless and finn runs around the corner (completely clothed) screaming "lub you" and arms wide for a hug. i can almost taste it when i've just crossed off the last thing off my daily to-do list and exhale with utter satisfaction. i feel like i'm just around the corner from it when i see a magazine cover with the words "5-ingredient meals for busy weeknights" and think to myself that i could be an amazing wife and cook amazing healthy food every night thanks to this plan. then the real-life living creeps in.

you see, finn is never fully and cleanly clothed and usually is only screaming for hugs and "lub you"s because he just smacked me across the face or wants another vitamin. and the moment my to-dos get finished...who am i kidding. i just woke up from a two hour unplanned nap after i sat down to look at my to-do list for the day. oh and the cooking. that magazine, bon appetit, it makes me think that i can do it all. until i open to the article and realize that the whole thing is a lie. it isn't 5-ingredient meals, but instead 5-ingredient recipes for sides, main courses, and desserts. sure, i admit that i am a little sick of my signature pasta and texas toast "recipe", but i'm not sure if i'm going to replace it with "watermelon granitas with gingered strawberries" (which only take 4 and 1/2 hours), "pistachio-crusted tofu with ponzu sauce" (no idea what ponzu is), and "warm baked apples with cranberry-caramel sauce." the last one does sound so amazing, but i guess i forgot to stock up on my heavy whipping cream tonight.

this isn't a post of my sob story for the day. it's just a post of realization. i woke up from my amazingly refreshing two hour nap to the sound of finn screaming my name and couldn't be happier. i may have tripped over his toys and knocked a pile of mail onto the dirty floor on my way to get him, but he seems perfectly content to live in this house. mess and pasta dinners and all, he continues to want me to play with him. and if i'm extremely lucky, he'll give me kisses before he smacks me in the chin or screams "I AM MAD" when i ask him why he's crying. but i'll take them afterwards, too. i wonder if my fantasy life even exists or if it is just on the well-planned magazine covers. i shall try, minus the ponzu sauce and watermelon granitas. i know that is never going to happen on a monday night.