LIFE!

I never write anymore. I never seem to have the time. I have four chapters of Physical Science homework to work on right now, I have plenty of work to do for the baby shower I am hosting this weekend, I have a test on Friday, and Jo is eating a Christmas bow. I wish life would just give me a second to sit down, relax, and feel like I have finished my long list of tasks.

Life will never do that though, instead, it will only give me more and more balls to juggle as time goes on. I am somewhat devastated by this truth. I love to write, I love to dance, I love to see plays and I love to read. None of these things have been happening lately though. I am drowning in a mess of unimportant chores that MUST be done, and assignments that make me despise General Education credits.

I believe that in a way, everyone is an author. The most important book you will ever write is the one in which you live. The current chapter of my incredible novel is entitled, "Drowning Mother Enjoys the Swim." I am trying so hard to be Mother-of-the-Millenium, but it is not going well. My daughter gets a bath about once a week, if we are lucky, it looks like an atomic Cheerio bomb landed in my living room, and I am wondering if I should check myself into the mental hospital. Jordan comes home to domestic mayhem after twelve hours of work every day and smiles - don't ask me why.

When I imagined myself in this stage of life I imagined everything perfect. I thought that I would be perfect, I thought my child would be perfect, I thought dinner would always be a masterpiece, and no speck of dust would be found anywhere. I also imagined my husband as perfect, but he pretty much is, so that worked out well.

I am beginning to realize that no chapter of my live novel will ever contain perfection. And this is starting to scare me a bit. There will always be crumbs on the couch, and someone will be screaming, and I will never master the art of grilled cheese. My cupcakes will always look like frosting throw-up, and the bags under my eyes are permanent.

With this realization comes a need for game-plan reconstruction. I spend so much time trying to reach the unattainable I don't enjoy the real-life that surrounds me. Yes, Jo's face has booger crusties on it, but she also has a stunning smile on. Dinner may look like camel excrement, but at least I get to share it with my wonderful family. My hair is an eternal disaster of frizz, but I love the way it feels when Jordan runs his fingers through it.

Things don't have to be perfect in order for them to be right. What makes something perfect is not the quality it posesses, but the quality you assign to it. What I choose to see is what will be there before me. Now all I have to do is get my eyesight fixed. Something easier said than done.

I am predicting that this will be a life-long struggle for me. There is too much of my grandma running through my veins for me to be comfortable with the less than ideal. When we clean her house she says, "Now, does it look like we could have the Queen of England over?" Well, in her case it does, she routinely washes her cupboards. But in my case, the Queen of England hasn't returned any of my calls, so maybe I should stop prepping for that.

Life is a mess, and it will always be a mess. If it wasn't that way, then it wouldn't be life. I am off to go revel in my unswept floor, get a four out of five on my Physical Science quiz, and hold my crying baby.

CHEERS!!!