The Glorious Train Wreck Mom

This is a safe space for all train wrecks. Except here, we don't give you a puppy and a latte. We give you sarcasm and humor.

Since we moved in October, I have been able to stretch my decorating muscles. I wanted to find something that wouldn’t scare my mother in law since she lives with us now. I sold my soul to Joanna Gaines. Everything is now rustic farmhouse chic. You will find black and white buffalo check pattern in ribbon, bows, tablecloths, and shoes by the door.

To be better at decorating, I’ve joined several Facebook groups. I swear these women live on staged magazine sets. White walls, white cabinets, hardwood floors that shine like the sun. No dents, dings, or scratches. No squeaky toys, dinosaurs, or runaway socks.

Now either these women are single with no children or animals, or they have a separate house in an undisclosed location that they keep their families in. That’s the house with dishes in the sink, marks on the wall where the dining room chairs hit, and toilet paper pieces from the dog getting into the bathroom.

These women are also either living off a trust fund, retirement, or husband’s with three jobs, or they are ridiculously creative and talented with Hobby Lobby as their own personal craft room.

I can’t begin to tell you how many times I’ve seen something they’ve posted with a caption, “Had some stuff lying around from last year. So, I decided to make some curtains, tablecloth, napkins, candle holders, a centerpiece, wreath, and Garland for my railing.” When are we ever going to get that eyeroll reaction, Zuckerberg?

I’m more of the budget friendly decorator. And by budget friendly I mean dollar store and whatever I actually have lying around. One of my favorite finds on my property is my little red wagon. It’s faded, rusted, and one of the boards in falling. In the rustic world, it’s perfect.

At least it was. Up until this morning, my little red wagon was sitting in front of my house. I sprayed it with rustoleum to keep the rust from spreading. Three mums filled the wagon. It was rustic, farmhouse autumnal perfection. And at five this morning, it was gone.

Who steals a wagon? Honestly.

And being that it is so early and I’m the only one awake I have no one to interrogate about the missing wagon. But I assure you, once these people wake up, I’m turning my kitchen into a film noir interrogation room. I may leave out the cigarette smoke and substitute my husband’s vape.

If none of them know where it’s gone, I may have to offer a ransom. I’m thinking my three kids would be a good deal but then again, the wagonnappers may give them back with the wagon and a note saying, “We are so sorry. Take it all back. We’re repenting and joining the seminary.”

For now, I wait for the sun and my family to rise.

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