Fake it 'til you...fall flat on your face.

Confession is good for the soul, or so the saying goes.

My soul must be doing great, because I have a completely uncontrollable life mission to confess all my craziness on a regular basis, to everyone who will listen, and even those who won't. Ask anyone, and they will confirm this.

I think its because I spent the better part of my teenage years (and my early 20's) putting on the mask of "got it all together" over top the mask of "stellar Christian" which was concealing the mask of "perfect wife, daughter, sister, friend, mother" and underneath all of them was the "confident, self-assured, knows who she is" mask.

And then I nearly had a nervous breakdown at the age of 23.

Its too long of a story, with way too many moments of crazy followed by way too many tears, to share.

But one day, as my 3 and 1 year old sat taking a bath simply because I needed them to be confined and happy for a moment (while I was laying in the floor next to the tub crying), something dawned on me that I had managed to keep hidden under all the smiling, masking, faking.

Faking it 'til I make it...isn't working. I'm not 'making it' anywhere. I'm only making myself and my family CRAZY.

Now...9 years post depression, post stress-induced insomnia, post FAKER...I seem to be suffering from the opposite problem.

Now I can't conceal my failure. I SHARE IT. All the time.

Today during school, I let my three year old play with thumb tacks. He may or may not have stuck one into the palm of his hand.

This week I took the same child to the doctor for a nasty cough...and I may or may not have secretly hoped he was contagious so I could get out of doing something the next day that I really didn't want to do.

I may or may not have referred to my children as "pains in my @#*" within their hearing this week.

After being stranded in the house all week with sick kids, I think its totally acceptable to make a trip to Target, with all the kids in their pajamas, even if the reason for the trip is purchasing a new pair of sweat pants after the death of the previous favorite pair. (hypothetically, of course)

This morning when I thought for a brief moment that we were out of milk, I may or may not have offered a three year old a Coke instead.

When the schoolroom got too filled with noise and complaining, I may have tuned it all out and played a level of my favorite game on my phone. But I may not have.

When my husband honked at me while he and the kids were in the van and I was still gathering things together in the house...I may or may not have stood in the entry way and counted to 30 before emerging, just because...well, because that will teach him to honk at me.

When he complained about me taking a swallow out of his cup at supper...it then became totally acceptable to spit in the glass of tea, thereby making it mine. (again, hypothetically)(although, while we are on this particular topic...what's the big deal about my spit in his cup? We share each other's spit a million times a day, just ask our kids)

I may or may not watch the minutes leading up to 5 p.m. tick by, because when 5 p.m. comes it is officially an acceptable hour to have a wine cooler.

When I meet, or hear about, or read about, a mom who has it all together, and loves her life all the time, and can't stop smiling, and is always waxing philosophical about how blessed and wonderful they feel all the time...there is a distinct possibility that I am thinking one of two things. "You are such a faker, no one feels like that all the time" or "I want to punch you in the face right now."

See what I mean? I'm way too honest. My husband will undoubtedly make his yelling face at me.

But I have found that I relate to/sympathize with/want to be around/die laughing at/say amen to the other moms out there who are tired of faking it, and just vomit their craziness at the first possible moment to anyone who will listen.

News flash: WE ARE ALL FAKING IT MOST OF THE TIME...and none of us are making it. So lets all quit faking, and then no one else will have to, and we will all be less crazy, and my husband can make his yelling face at the whole lot of us!

I went first.

Your turn!