Perfectly Imperfect

That’s what I am.


I don’t know about you, but sometimes I get bone tired. Tired beyond tired. Tired to the point where all I crave is sleep, and yet  it eludes me.

It is in these moments of sheer exhaustion that I sometimes have the most clarity. It makes no sense to me, but hey…

I don’t want to be the Best Mother on the Face of the Earth. I want to be the best mother to my kids. I will fight for their education, make sure they are clean and fed, and love them to bits and pieces. I will paint toenails, dose Tylenol, and put them in time out.

Does that make me perfect? Nope.


Because I am imperfect too. And that’s OK. YOU don’t have to be perfect. YOU just have to be YOU.


Trust me, there are days when Jack screams “MOOOOOOOOMMMMMMMAAAAAA!” at 4 AM and I think, “Good Lawd, NO!”

I haven’t taken a shower without my children invading in years– and sometimes, I get angry about it.

Occasionally, I say bad words in anger. OK, well, maybe more than occasionally. I blame my father. He taught me all those words.

I daydream that we’re rich and someone cleans my house for me.

Sometimes, I cannot wait until I graduate (YIPPEE) so I can have a job where I can talk to people about things other than my “issues.”

Last week, I lost  my daughter and an entire bag of groceries at the store. I found my daughter, but my groceries are still missing.

I hate cooking dinner. With a fiery passion.


So, I’m not perfect.


Who is?





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