Perfect.
I hate it when some younger-than-me customer service representative uses that word. The conversation goes like this:
Customer Service: "And what is your address?"
(I give them the street, city, state and zip)
CS: "Perfect."
Is it? Is it actually "perfect" that I remembered where I live?
CS: "Would you like fries with that?"
Me: "Yes, large size."
CS: "Perfect."
No it isn't. A large order of fries will go directly to my hips. Or hadn't she noticed that about me? Because I'm NOT PERFECT.
So, .... I think that in the world of Facebook, Pinterest, blogs, & other online media sites, people tend to post beautiful pictures of perfectly decorated rooms, perfectly delicious meals, perfectly dressed families, ..... and the rest of us are left with a wildly distorted image of some sort of perfect life, that doesn't actually exist in reality.
Well, at least for 99% of us, it doesn't exist. I'm sure there's 1% out there somewhere that really does live that perfect life. Whoever they are, though, I don't know them.
So in the interest of Keeping It Real, I want to share some of the down-to-earth realities about Real Life at Huffaker Haven, and how this mom here may not always have the best method of handling everything from positive parenting to oddball mishaps. This is coming at you in no particular order.....
Bad Mommy Reaction
Last night, one of the kids had an unexpectedly explosive experience with a bottle of pop. It was all over the counters, cabinets, floor, people, ...... it was probably in more places than I realize. I'm going to open a drawer and find pop-splatter in it, I'm sure of it. After grabbing the roll of paper towels, I have to admit that I had a bit of a giggle at the absurdity of the whole thing.
Giggling. At your child's expense. Yeah. That was probably not the best mother-reaction, huh?
I talk a lot about how well my girls get along together. And they do. For the most part. But we have an occasional heated skirmish around here that doesn't even remotely resemble "harmony." Guilt-trips and stonewalling can happen in the blink of a mascara-coated eyelash. And we deal with it.
I like to delude myself into believing that I'm teaching my kids life skills that they will need once they've grown up and left home. In fact, I have a whole List of things that I want them to know before they leave home. (Just ask them.... The List is posted inside the pantry as a reminder!) There's a variety of things on my List, everything from knowing how to check the oil in their car, to cooking meals, to leading music, ............ and I'm pretty sure the reality around here isn't quite the ideal I once thought I was doing.
For example, how can they learn responsibility if I keep doing things for them? For a few days, while our dishwasher was out of commission, we were back to handwashing dishes. But instead of "we" -- it was "me" doing dishes. Because it was easier to do it myself than it would be to ask the teens, and then go through the routine of groans, sighs and listening to the expansive list of all they have to get done before midnight.
Teaching Good Habits
I remember having to make my bed EVERY SINGLE DAY when I was growing up. I wish I could say that I've taught my kids that habit. Despite going over this point repeatedly with all of my kids (including my boys who have flown the nest), none of them has this habit. Not one. Bedmaking is apparently a special occasion offering. Like if they want to do something or go somewhere, they'll make their bed in order to secure permission from the mom. How and when did this happen???
And apparently, unbeknownst [what a cool word!] to me, the children have all decided that the laundry room is their personal clothes closet. Did they have a siblings' conference and vote on this one?
I will make a confession right now, too. In any given picture that I post on this blog, I have probably gone through the background, and moved things out of camera range. (I'm not talented enough to Photoshop things out of the picture.) Things like newspapers, schoolwork, toys, -- the clutter of life that I seem to be surrounded with. All these get moved out of sight, so that you don't see how we REALLY live. And if it snuck into the photo, I crop it out whenever possible. Pretty hypocritical, huh?
Warped Four-Year-Old
There's something to be said for being a more relaxed parent. But there's relaxed, and then there's just plain lazy. Our sweet little Emma is not having the same childhood experience as our older kids had. This is the child that gets away with being the biggest little stinker ever. "Picky" doesn't even begin to describe her eating habits. And when did we start buying something for our kids on every single trip to a store? She's even learned how to bat her eyelashes. Pretty sure the older kids did not have it this easy. What am I raising this child to be??
And finally, ........ (well, for today)
Procrastination is the Name of the Game
It's a bad habit of mine, that I'm trying to shake, struggling to shake, and apparently I'm passing it along to my children. Examples? Well, for as much as I love teaching early-morning Seminary, I can't seem to prepare my lessons before 10:00 at night. And for as much as I want to be a bit early to church on Sundays -- to be able to sit, breathe, and focus before the meeting starts -- one or more of us is always scrambling at the last minute before we dash out the door, and half the time, that "someone" is me. We often slip into some empty bench -- or worse: into the chairs in the overflow area -- just as the opening hymn is being sung. I delay purchasing a birthday gift or card until we're on the way to a party. I somehow think that I have more time than I actually do, or my tasks take longer than the time I'd allotted for them. I see things that need to be done, and I either wait to do them, or they don't get done at all.
I just know that I can be better than what I am. And I am teaching my children to procrastinate, too. School reports and projects don't get done until the night before they're due. Assignments, or Saturday Chores don't get finished until late afternoon.
So were you waiting for some sort of disastrous confessional? Are you sitting there thinking, "Lady, you're not that bad."??
Maybe not. But I'm all about progressing. And if you're not moving forward, then you're moving backward. Right? So here's to moving forward!
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