It was Sunday afternoon and I had been solo parenting all day while the hubs helped my brother get his rental ready to sell. There are times when I really enjoy having the boys all to myself as Deklan (3) is still in his never ending Daddy Obsessed phase. When Daddy isn’t around he has no choice but to want to play with me, so I win by default. I tell you what though, it can make for a loooooong day. Carter (1) is hangry all the time and constantly at your feet screaming and pointing to his mouth any time you step foot in the kitchen. And Deklan is, well, 3. By noon we were all ready to get out of the house so I packed up the stroller, a bag chair for me, a toddler bag chair for Deklan, the GoPod for Carter, a picnic blanket in case the chairs were not to their liking, snacks, sippy cups, toys, jackets, and head out to watch my nephew’s first flag football game – he’s 5 so this should be entertaining! In hindsight, a blanket to sit on for all of us would have sufficed, but then again 3 year olds are unpredictable. You know what I didn’t bring though? Sunscreen or hats. An obvious choice for a sunny day. Anyway, as SOON as I tell Deklan where we are going, he starts whining that he’s not big enough to play football on a team so he doesn’t want to go. *sigh* He kept asking when he will finally be big because he’s eating his vegetables every day (debatable) and still isn’t big enough yet <reminder to start the conversation around the pitfalls of envy when he’s not 3 and I’m not so tired > By the time we got there he had pulled himself together, but didn’t miss the opportunity to show off his cannon in the field behind us and then approached my nephew’s coach and told him his name is “Deklan Michael Seeman and he will get to play too when he’s bigger.” Then he took out a marker, signed his name on the football, and handed it back to him to make sure he wouldn’t forget. Just kidding. He can’t write his name yet. That would have been awesome though. We should work on that.

Of course all of this occurred over nap time so both boys were a little off schedule and crashed in the car on the way home. I carried them inside and put them both down on the couch.*gasp* Yes, I know that is probably frowned on by many, but they are old enough they won’t roll or smother so save your comments. I did a quick temperature check on the state of the house, got overwhelmed, and said F it I’m going outside with a beer and my InStyle magazines that I’m 2 months behind on. I had to fight to get my subscription back after my husband claimed I never read them, so I really needed to prove to him I was in fact getting our money’s worth. Or so I tell myself…

Before I cracked open the beer or mag, I took the obvious first step in attempting to document my “me” time. Because, social media. So I try to take one of those Instagram photos that looks like an ad with the magazines fanned out perfectly, my Ray Bans and beer bottle placed strategically on top, and the sun and trees in the background. As in most cases with me, the end product looked nothing like my vision. You could see the water rings all over the magazine from where my kids set their sippy cups, and so many rips and tears from it being thrown on the floor and walked all over by the hurricane of a 1 year old whose only goal in life right now is to destroy anything in his path, that you couldn’t even really tell what kind of magazine it was; and the brown chairs, trees, and table top in the background looked drab. Delete. Then I think in order to really capture the moment I should be in the picture. But not full face selfie in it, just like staring off into the distance blissfully with the sun on my face, in it.

Take one. 

Ew. No. I look like I’m holding in a fart.

Redo.

Maybe if I relaxed my brow and did something different with my mouth.

There’s that damn long arm again.

And why would I ever think biting my lip would be a good look? Like I’m Kim K filming another Carl’s Junior commercial or something.

Redo. 

Let’s go back to the other side staring off into the distance.

Maybe I just need more of a bird’s eye view. You know, the kind that doesn’t really even feel like a selfie because it gives off the appearance that someone else took the picture for you. That’s more mature anyway.

Meh.

Too much hat. Still too much arm. 

Now you can’t even tell I’m drinking a beer because the wind blew the magazine corner up over it.

Stop. Just stop.

At this point panic sets in because it’s now 3:45 and I really don’t want them sleeping much past 4:00 or they won’t go to bed at night, so now my 30 minutes of bliss is down to 15, and really what you can accomplish in 15 minutes…AGHH!

That’s when it hit me. WTF IS WRONG WITH ME? I obsessed for 15 minutes over finding the perfect selfie angle for what purpose? To show everyone that I’m so carefree I can turn my back on a messy house to make time for myself? Or that I’m selfish because I know it would have made my husband happy to come home to a clean house when he had been doing manual labor all day, but instead I chose to drink a beer on our deck? Or that I have such a healthy balance in life that I can carve out time for myself and still be a good mom, housekeeper, and wife? When the reality is no matter what I choose to do with my time it is almost always at the loss of something else I could, or should be doing. There’s never enough time or energy to do it all. And honestly, does anyone even really expect me to? I mean let’s get real and then serious, half the time I can’t even get myself home from work the same way I got there, so my ability to function in society is at an average level at best. I don’t want to wish away time, because it’s the one thing you can never get back, but man this stage in life is hard. So let’s pull back the curtains, People: 90% of the time my house will be a mess and my Insta-worthy selfies will have at least 5 really bad outtakes still on my phone. My selfie game is not strong, ya’ll.