After my last post, a friend of mine commented that my children are always dressed so nicely despite my claims to buy secondhand and cheap kids clothes.

So I feel I must come clean.

I am a Fakebooker.

What is a Fakebooker? A big, giant liar is what it is. That life that I put out there on Facebook? It’s totally Mary Poppins’ world. It doesn’t exist in real life. My children do not smile for every photo op. They do not smell of roses and sunshine. We do not sit down and have craft time every day. That’s way too exhausting. I’ll be lucky if my kids ever learn what the word ‘craft’ means.

But what on Earth has happened to all of my Facebook friends? It’s like Martha Stewart and Pinterest had a baby and that baby took over my friends like pod people. The girls I used to drunkenly sing “Pour Some Sugar on Me” with at The Ranch are now posting perfectly posed photos of cute babies at Deanna Rose Farmstead, their organic produce from the farmer’s market and are recording their kids reciting friggin’ Shakespeare — okay so that’s an exaggeration, but you get my point.

Because of this, I can’t possibly post the hilarious photo from this weekend of HJ with dirt covering her mouth because she thought the ground sprouted Oreo crumbs. Or that B cries to be held most of the day and I usually give in because I. JUST. CANNOT. TAKE. IT. ANYMORE.

No. I can’t post any of that. PEOPLE WILL JUDGE ME.

Mommy guilt is a powerful thing and nothing brings it on faster than the unsolicited opinions of other people. You can say what you want about my hair, my clothes or even the color I painted my living room and I won’t care, but the moment a word is spoken about the well-being of my children? That stuff cuts like a knife. It can even be something as mundane as “HJ is having a bad hair day, huh?” Immediately, I will be filled with immense guilt that I let my child leave the house to be mocked and ridiculed.

It’s ridiculous, I know. Mommy guilt comes out of nowhere. It’s so stupid and it needs to be stopped.

So today, I’m letting down my guard and un-Photoshopping our life. The madness must stop. Everyday is NOT perfect and we must admit that some of those photos were strategically taken to omit the giant pile of laundry on the floor. Right?

Here’s what our everyday really looks like:

She refused to stay in her bed and I was so over scolding her to get back in. So she slept here.

She spent a good part of the morning like this because she liked it. I say if Beyonce doesn’t have to wear pants, then Baby Girl, you rock what ya got.

B rarely smiles for photos. If she does it’s a friggin’ miracle. Most of our shots look similar to this.

Okay Facebook moms. Where are your un-Photoshopped life events?