It must be so hard to be rich and famous. Take Gwyneth Paltrow; the poor gal tries to pen an authentic “day in the life” post about how she balances work and motherhood, and the haters go ballistic. The articles and comments in response to GP’s post could pretty accurately be summed up thusly: “Oh, poor baby was late to meet her personal trainer and she can only get her ‘favorite fishmonger’ to deliver when she’s at her London pad. The sad, tragic shame.”

Would someone please give the lovely Ms. Paltrow a break? The lady only knows what she knows, and if you get resentful hearing her wax poetic about her privileged life, maybe try not to read her blog. If you want something you can relate to, there are plenty of blogs written by “real” moms who detail their ho-hum lives daily. Here’s how mine would read:

Wake at 5 a.m. to the sound of husband snoring. Again. Punch him in the arm and hiss at him to roll over. He does. The snoring continues. Toss and turn for 45 minutes before accepting the fact that I am not going to fall back asleep and drag myself out of bed. Check mirror to see if yesterday’s pimple miraculously disappeared overnight. It did not. Wait not-so-patiently for coffee to brew, then realize the milk is bad. Add extra sugar and a huge squirt of whipped cream, and decide it’s even better this way. Congratulate self on creativity.

Check email, Facebook, Twitter. Ooh, Pottery Barn is having a sale on a bunch of stuff I still can’t afford. Delete. Kids begin to trickle into my office (I work at home), demanding elaborate breakfasts. Make frozen waffles instead. Endure meltdown from one over the position of the part in her hair (“It feels weird!”), leaving me with no energy to fight the other about the foolishness of wearing sandals in January. Cringe when hear self utter, “When you get frostbite, don’t come crying to me.” Refuse to explain what frostbite is, out of spite.

Attempt to assemble backpack contents. Realize we didn’t finish homework, can’t find library book and swore we’d walk to school today. Too late. Park around corner from school and pretend to look very, very tired from the stroll.

Race home. Write, field emails, tweet (like Gwyneth, it’s part of my job.). Eat granola bar at desk. How can it be time to pick them up already?

Sit in endless school pickup line. Recall yesterday’s promise to get some exercise today and perform a few halfhearted kegels. Drag kids to grocery store. Spend an hour lifting children in and out of the shopping cart and refusing snack requests. Get everyone home, unload groceries, unpack kids’ crap, force them to do homework. Decide “because I said so” is, in retrospect, a fine response to just about anything. Scour refrigerator and pantry for least offensive possible meal option. Open a bottle of wine. Bribe kids with marshmallows for eating their hotdogs without complaint. Agree to “one” TV show and pretend not to notice when it turns into three. Count number of days since the kids’ last shower, and decide natural oils are good for skin and body, so proceed with sponge bath. Pay older child a dollar to read younger one a book, flop onto couch and watch last week’s Tivo’d Modern Family. Vow to do better tomorrow.

What does a day in your life look like?

Originally published on iVillage.