one day last week, during one of my hurried, mad rushes to make it out the door by 7:05, i had an epiphany. as i searched in futility for matching black socks and heaved a sigh of disgust at the pile of dishes i was leaving in the sink, it occurred to me that i will never be one of those flawless, put together moms who seem to have it all figured out. and though i've tried, this is just something I'm going to have to learn to accept about myself.
i've heard it said that these mothers don't exist, that they're created in hollywood along with other such fabled creatures as the perfect husband. but i disagree. i've seen them. i know they're out there. with their SUV's, their perfect hair and trendy outfits, their impeccably dressed children and their spotless homes.
of course, i don't look hideous when i go in public...at least most of the time i don't. nor does my house look totally unlivable when guests come over (though that probably wouldn't be the case if they were to drop by unannounced). and i must say that i have rather adorable children, though they're rarely dressed in mitchy-matchy boutique apparel with coordinating hair bow. which makes me wonder if perhaps these perfect mothers aren't so perfect after all, but rather just appear as such to the naked eye? behind the scenes, in their not-as-spotless-as-we-may-think homes, maybe they're as thrown together and out-of-control as i am. at least this is what i'm hoping.
i've even attempted a system to achieve becoming supermommy. or rather, i've attempted to attempt a system. i see all of these amazing and simple ideas of becoming organized in home magazines and more recently on pinterest. and i've tried to implement some of my own: planning outfits the night before, down to the hair barrette; special boxes and baskets to put each and every paper that madelyn and ella bring home from school and daycare; laundry hampers for each family member and assigned days of the week for each person's stuff to get washed; rules on cleaning up after oneself and washing each dish you dirty as soon as you dirty it; trying to have a place for every single item that is brought into the house so that nothing is ever just lying around. yet every morning, there's a meltdown over shoes, madelyn has inevitably lost her jacket (again), and i discover in the daycare parking lot that ella didn't wash her face and her leggings have a hole in the knee. and at the end of the day, there's a sink of dirty dishes and the kitchen table is littered with school papers.
maybe being the perfect goddess mommy is a trait you're born with; some have it and some very obviously do not. maybe they really don't exist at all, outside of the hollywood hills. or maybe, just maybe, these moms are as crazy as the rest of us. maybe this facade of perfection is so exhausting that they look at moms like me--with my blue sock on one foot and black on the other--secretly thinking that maybe being the perfect mom isn't all it's cracked up to be.
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