Sometimes, I dream of having a Pinterest-inspired home. I would have a color-coordinated mudroom. A chevron pattern would most definitely be involved. I would pack beautiful lunches for my children in Bento boxes—the food would be arranged in snazzy animal shapes and I would include love notes written on homemade paper. I would sew matching outfits from old curtains and sing “The Hills Are Alive with the Sound of Music.” I would be the most hated loved woman on Pinterest.
But sometimes, my Pinterest dreaming gives way to another kind of dream. It’s like Pinterest’s crack whore cousin.
Last week, I was awakened at 3:00 a.m. by racing thoughts of:
Who has 6:00 a.m. practice?
Did I return the 87 permission slips due yesterday?
Do I smell stinky soccer cleats or for the love of all things holy, is that smell my breath?
I should buy a chevron pillow.
Did the kids even do their homework?
Wait, did they even eat dinner?
After getting up and attacking the Listerine bottle, I stumbled to my computer—aka the magic box of distraction. When I came across this clip from the movie Fight Club (not that I was searching for Brad Pitt clips at 3:30 a.m.) . . .
And that’s when my pretty Pinterest fantasies took a sudden dark turn.
What if moms were more like the fellas in Fight Club? What if . . . just what if we turned the tables on those little bastards people who run our lives?
It might look a little like this:
Imagine the possibilities! No more whining. No more last minute bake sale requests. And definitely no more sass-talking teens.
But, as often happens, the brilliant ideas that come to me in the night don’t seem so brilliant when the sun comes up. They just seem . . . well, like a distant Pinterest crack whore dream.