Reality

So sometimes I feel all mushy inside and motivated to be a better person/mother/friend, slash slash slash. And maybe today is one of those days. I feel like going out and buying a vintage house dress so that I can wear it around my house under my apron and feel all Homemakerly. I want my house to smell like fresh baked bread and cookies. I want my hardwood floors to "shine like the top of the Chrysler Building". I want my Mr. B to write me love letters and tell me that "Although I must work out of town sometimes, it is then that I miss you the most and realize that my life is not complete without you. In the morning when I open my eyes, I want to see your sweet face lying next to mine on the pillow. As I reach over and wipe the sleep from your eyes, I would dab away the drool ever so slowly slipping from the side of your mouth and kiss your sweet lips, because to go even a moment without some sort of piece of you would cause me to lose my mind. My dearest Emilia, you are my heart and soul."

But you know, that would be changing who we really are. So I must ask myself this, do I want to pretend or do I want to be real?

This is real:

If I decide to buy a vintage dress, it will come from our Entertainment Fund (because we have now created an amazing budget and I am seriously so excited about it! I promise. I really really really am!) And then I would go shopping at the Goodwill, because our Entertainment Fund is nearly empty for this month.

My house won't smell like homemade bread because a) I don't have a bread maker and b) Yeast is not my ever rising friend. I don't make bread. But, I do have an awesome recipe for cookies.

My hardwood floors will not ever shine because of the dog and the other's who inhabit our wonderland home.

My Mr. B is not the letter-writing-to-me type. But he does call whenever he is away, and tells me how much I mean to him. How he doesn't realize it until he is gone, that I am truly his haven; his home. That he loves me beyond words, and when he gets home, he'll prove it to me. hehe.

So there. Real is a bit better. Plus, all those women in the vintage dresses look to me like they can't wait to get out of their vintage dress and put on some stretchy pants.