World's Okayest Mom

Time to dust off ye olde bloggy blog and get this party started again.  I miss writing.  I miss having the time and mental fortitude to complete thoughts and share them.  This used to be my favorite way to pass time.  Nowadays each minute is so fleeting and full of millions of other responsibilities, the idea of using even 10 minutes to write about myself or my life seems frivolous.  I mean, I could be starting a load of laundry and folding another load in that time.  I could scrub a toilet in that time.  I could haphazardly run a razor over my legs in that time.  This is my thought process now.  Those women who maintain daily, or even weekly, blogs full of perfect photos of their latest organizational/crafty creation are freaks of nature.  My only explanation for being that "put together" is that they must be dipping into their kids' Ritalin.  How else do they manage?!  I didn't even get to take a shower today.  I whore-bathed it up in the sink, sped the whole way to work, and was STILL 45 minutes late.  Seriously, how do they do it?!

Lately I've been at this weird place in my life where I teeter between feeling content w/ my mediocrity and being sad about it.  I want a talent.  I want to be good at something.  I want to do something that makes people say things like "wow, you're awesome" or "I'm jealous" or "that's really cute; you should sell that".  I've got nothing.  Here's the crazy thing: most of the time I'm alright with that.  It is this strange in-between space where I'm learning to accept myself as-is, but also wanting to be more.  I guess I've always sort of been this way, but since having Presley (which I swear "fixed" my hormones somehow), it doesn't throw me into a fit of anxiety and depression.  Before, I'd think of all my shortcomings and I'd have panic attacks.  The best way to explain how that feels is that it's the emotional equivalent of what the character Pigpen from Peanuts looks like.  A jumbled series of scribbly lines, floating around and obscuring my view of the world and their view of me.  It sucked.  Hard.

Sure, I still get overwhelmed with certain things.  Mostly it's the huge discrepancy between my free time, energy level, and my to-do list.  The scales are tipped heavily on the side of to-dos.  It bothers me when I feel like I've fallen behind or I'm not fulfilling my duties as a Mom & Wife.  Especially when I see other women who seem to be able to juggle everything with the precision and accuracy of a circus performer.  They make it look so easy to be wonderful at holding every piece of themselves together.  And their hair is always fantastic.  I look at them and wish I was more like that, but it doesn't consume me anymore.  It doesn't borough into me and hold me hostage, unable to function on the most basic level.  I keep going.  I admit I'm not the greatest at everything and fight back at my inner-perfectionist when she starts being unrealistic about what success should look like.

In fact, I'll publicly confess right now that

My hair is a metaphor for my life: partly together, partly a mess.
And that is OKAY!

my house is messy and still not decorated in spite of the fact that we've lived there for 5 months.  We eat take-out more often than not because I can't juggle my schedule as well as I should.  Our yard is neglected and in need of some serious landscaping and general maintenance.  My oldest child would rather spend time in her room w/ ear buds wedged in her ears than sit and watch a movie w/ her dorky parents.  She is in therapy b/c she's having a hard time coping with all the changes in our lives and in her own body.  My marriage is strong and intact, but definitely not as consistently passionate as it once was.  There is passion, but it comes in short bursts now, instead of a long, lingering flame. The point is: things aren't perfect.  I'm not perfect.  My family isn't perfect. But it's okay.  I'm okay with being okay.  Will I strive for better? Always.  Will I apologize for falling short of society's unrealistic standards for women?  Not ever.