Pinterest Perfect

When I was younger, like way younger, I had a friend who told me that my parents were rich. I had absolutely no clue what she was talking about. My parents were my parents. We lived in a nice house, with a yard, pond and woods. It never occurred to me that maybe I had more or less than anyone else I knew. I liked it fine that way. Some friends were lucky enough to live near town, and near the ice cream shop! Some had neighborhood friends with playgrounds near by. Some of my friends could walk to school others had ponds like me. In any case I never really took notice to any of that.

Now I notice everything. I feel like when I peruse Pinterest for party ideas or decor ideas I am given a barrage of pictures of how I should be landscaping, cleaning, organizing and decorating. It always looks so serene, calming and everyone is perpetually happy. Then I go home.

I am never going to be Pinterest perfect. Mostly because I'm a fabulous cook and a terrible housekeeper. I feel like if your house is perfectly decorated and perfectly cleaned right down to every piece of trim you probably aren't making your meals from scratch. I know that there are exceptions. But the norm at my house is for me to try a new recipe and then serve it on paper plates. Mostly due to ease of clean up. And also because I don't want to spend time doing the dishes.

The other issue I have with this perceived perfection is who has the money or time to create this? I barely can remember to pay the cable bill (and I mostly pay it so that I can continue my Shonda Rhimes/ Pinot Grigio habit). Who are these families that have it all? I am the person that double clicks on their latest post to see if their trim is dirty. I'm sorry, that's rude, but I'm comparing it to my dirty trim. It seems I can't strike a balance. If my kids are happy and laughing and photoworthy I probably haven't vacuumed recently. Or, if I'm entertaining and I'm taking photos of my food display (I know, I know, that's another post) and my house is pristine, then I'm exhausted and my kids are somewhere else, probably dirty, too.

At 40 I now know that Pinterest Perfection will never happen. I live in a split level that is perpetually under construction. We have a big backyard, full of toys and echoing laughter. We have a large kitchen perfect for my need to feed, but the trim is dirty and likely something needs scrubbed. I'm just starting to be ok with that, I can't expect perfection if one of my greatest joys cooking my family dinner and then watching Olivia Pope outwit her father.

Mornings

    I completely get that mornings are going to be a bit tricky. Especially since my husband leaves for work before any of us dream of getting up. Except the dog. She wakes up. At 6:20 every morning. What is really funny about this in a "not so haha way" is that she reminds me of my ADHD child. Both of them wake up ready to go. Remmie does it by barking in her cage, Katie does it by running from her bed to the basement to let Remmie out.

     Anyway, this morning was one of those mornings where I didn't want to do it. I just was beat. After Katie clearly let Remmie out my youngest came into my room to ask for a "wrap". For her elbow. That she hurt. I was so confused I rolled over and took a peak with one eye open. Sure enough, there stood Maggie holding her shoulder. Naturally I said, that's your shoulder. She said it hurt and she needed a wrap. I decided it was best to get up and jump into the shower. I'm lucky that my children are responsible enough to handle breakfast on their own. However, this morning when I got out of the shower I heard the three of them discussing how to properly prepare chocolate chip cookie dough. This is a great time to join them in the kitchen, I needed to make sure they actually weren't baking before 7, on a Tuesday.

    As I wound my way back upstairs, coffee in hand I looked outside to see Maggie and Katie playing baseball. BASEBALL. It was 7:05. I finished drying my hair and seriously considered not wearing make up to work today. Lizzie came into the room and told me that Santa bought her a hairbrush and no one else was to use it. Um, is this like how I buy myself a hairbrush and it disappears? Frankly, I'm going to use her hairbrush. Katie comes excitedly up the stairs to remind me to make the lunches for them.

    Contrary to what she thinks this is not the first time I have needed to make lunch AND get myself ready. My 9 year old is excellent at being a micro-manager. A law firm will thank her one day. Coffee in hand (this time to heat it back up) I finished lunches and gave kisses. Part one of my day was over. I was exhausted, already.

Wednesday

                I’m sitting here listening to an “oldies station” and instead of it playing Buddy Holly; it’s playing Huey Lewis and the News. I’m pondering the drama that is our small town’s club soccer league. What I can’t figure out is how these other parents have the time or the inclination to worry if their 9 year old is being challenged enough or is developing to her fullest potential. Wait. Isn't she 9?

                Huey Lewis is asking “if this is it”. And I’m wondering the same. Frankly, when I was listening to this song the first time on my boom box in my bedroom in 1985 I did not think I would coach a soccer team that would lose players due to the team not being challenging enough. Hell, I’m not sure I even knew about soccer in 1985.

                Later when I’m relaying this weird drama to my husband he mentions that this isn't even on his radar. I get that. There’s a backhoe in our driveway fixing a long needed drainage issue. The project looks big and very expensive. We eat in silence, the kids chatter about their day, soccer tryouts and scoring, I catch him staring outside. I wonder if Huey Lewis is playing in his mind. When he was little in 1985 did he think he’d eat hot dogs on a Wednesday wondering if the most recent project was more than we could handle. Is this it?  In my kitchen I stare at my kids, we move to the next phase of the evening. The next phase of the evening can easily be referred to as “Round Up”. Everyone is in motion. Lunch boxes are checked and preloaded for the next day. Dinner dishes are cleared and cleaned. Coffee is made. Our animals are checked for food and water. Lastly the kids get their pj's on. This should be a calm time. And I've seen pictures on the internet and suggestions on Pinterest that tell me my kids should be reading a book, calmly. I have never been able to accomplish a calm evening. Even as babies it was a loud process, always ending in tears. At least now they can dress themselves.

                I take the dog out for her last walk of the evening still stuck on this soccer issue. I made promises to my younger self about how motherhood was going to look. A large part of that promise included not getting wrapped up in my child’s success as though it was me living through them. I can see now how that is so easy. I see it all around me every day. And hell yes I want my kids to be successful and awesome. However, it has to come from them. Not me. They have to want it; the biggest hurdle so far in parenting is how to show the children that desire comes from within, not external expectations. On a side note 8 years ago I would have told you that potty training, breastfeeding or sleep training was the biggest hurdle. So, you know. Perspective is everything. Finishing up our walk (which was frankly to the backyard and back) I have an image of my one daughter playing soccer. And smiling like she’s on camera. The entire game. Our team loses, but she’s still smiling. That day, just last week, on the way home she asked if she could play with her cousins. Entering the house it reminds me that I might actually be achieving what I set out to do.

                Meaning, maybe when I was listening to Huey Lewis in 1985 in my purple bedroom I was actually thinking of this day, this night and soccer drama. Maybe the details were not clear but the intention was. Pretty sure if I was able to get my twins to sleep through the night (I use that term loosely) I can also get over this next hurdle, which many refer to as the middle. Some days it’s messier than others, but it’s definitely the middle. The groundwork you laid for the last several years comes into play, kind of a precursor to the teen years, where the groundwork had better be solid. Now you can tweak, adjust as you go.

                Back in the house I’m abruptly reminded that this is in fact it. In my five minute absence a large fight escalated to the normal yelling, crying and pinching. I trudge up the stairs, listening to the hum of the shower where my husband is, pretending he cannot hear anything. The dog takes a beloved stuff animal and hides it. Screaming ensues. I tuck everyone in bed (also, remaking my 7 year old’s bed as I do every night). Kisses all around, I head back downstairs, grab my phone and a glass of Pinot. I settle in, trying to relax. I’m going to bed soon, but not before Gabe and I place bets on which child will not be able to sleep tonight and which one has homework that was overlooked. We also will recap the day, plans for the next day. And if we’re feeling really adventurous we’ll talk a little about the future, our plans, a dream or two and maybe a new goal. And then I know, I have the answer to Huey Lewis’ question.