Okay. So I updated this here blog thinger a while back and tried to revamp everything in the hopes of writing more frequently. It was a good thought in theory. Perhaps if I started the endeavor in one of the slower seasons at work without the usual chaos that summer brings. Maybe if I stopped taking on so much I’d have more time. Perhaps if I upped my caffeine intake (shotty kidneys be damned!) I would have enough pep to finally nab that “perfect mom” title and still have energy to write about it.
I mean, I have done a lot this summer. I’ve fit in a lot of things that I previously categorized as celebrations or shindigs and had lots of great times with the girls. But that’s not what I want to talk about today. I want to tackle the “perfect mom” thing. I’ve seen the perfectly put together woman in the line of Wegmans with three angels in tow and privately marvelled at and envied her perfection. I have been pushed by moms like her to up my own game in the hopes that I would be viewed in such an aura of ideal momdom. I have gotten that beautiful praise… “Wow, you’re like a perfect mom”.
And boy am I not. I want to dispel this title here and now because I feel that in the end it’s dangerous. Aiming for perfection in such a crazy and erratic role of a parent, is impossible, no matter how many Klonopin you take to keep from throwing things at the back of your whining kid’s head. And the more I strive for perfection, the more I lose it when things don’t go as planned.
I have caught myself saying some horrible things to my children when I get home from work and sit down to eat for the first time just in time for them to need me for something idiotic.
There is a project sitting in my little one’s room that she wanted to start at Christmas. It’s this little blank doll that in theory is supposed to become a ballerina with random fabric and yarn sewn on. I’m not sure. The directions disappeared in February along with most of the fabric and fixings.
I self doubt.
People ask how I’m this thin with two children. Because I have problems. Maintaining this weight is terrifying. I am a dancer and actor and not exactly extraordinary at either of these endeavors. My thin frame is basically what has always sold me. Sure I’m skinny but that means if I eat a donut, you can tell. Like, literally, a strange round shape appears in my abdomen. (Apparenly I don’t chew.) Disney and Florida is in 29 days and I’m agonizing over bikinis for a week… and also the thought of short shorts and roller coasters? I picture the ride attendants strapping me in and getting hit in the face with my thighs.
I lose shit. Often. I spent five minutes trying to find a tray at work the other day. It was in my hand. I miss meetings and dates with friends. I promise my kids park and shopping trips and they list all of my shortcomings and memory lapses at bedtime as I kiss them goodnight.
Nobody is perfect. I sure as hell am not. But I’m working on being present and…. well… adequate. I take the girls on little outings and we do summer lessons. We watch the Disney movies while eating themed food. We cook together and have dance breaks. And we hug and kiss and love each other as often as we can.
And that’s what I think they’ll remember. They’ll look back on campfires, sing-alongs and picnics. The missed bathtime or the ice cream cone protruding from my belly button will (hopefully) be long forgotten. And I will continue being a perfectly imperfect version of me.
In my next entry I will list some of our summer shindigs. For real. On Saturday I will be blogging. I’ll go back to writing about the little victories and successes of the season. It’s not perfection by any means, but I am perfectly okay with that.