I'm a Domestic Failure

This morning as I was trying to get my brain to wake up, I scrolled through my Facebook news feed and came across an essay Your Childern Want YOU! a friend recommended.  In a nutshell the essay says that our kids love us the way we are and don't care if we can't and don't do all the things the Pinterest-Domestic-goddesses do.  At least that is what I took away from it.  As I read the essay I got that warm oozy happy feeling that I shouldn't feel bad and sent my butt to work.

This is something you should feel good about.
You can go about your business.

Then approximately 2 hours later this huge cloud of guilt settled over my head.  I was thinking, what the heck?  What did I do wrong today?  Nursing my guilt over my second cup of tea (same teabag, so yuck), I realized that I originally had no guilt about not living up to the Pinterest-Domestic-goddess.  But now that I know I was supposed to feel bad, I'm suffering from the guilt of not feeling guilty.  Honestly, I didn't really think about it before.  I have a huge mountain of clothes, both dirty and clean, beside the bed.  With the exception of the B's room, there is nothing adorning our walls.  The same IKEA curtains that came with the house are still hanging, slightly grey now. 

And then I realized it, I'm a domestic failure.  Well, crap.

I'm blissfully oblivious to my mother's shortcomings.

At least the B still likes me, for now.