Perfectly Imperfect and That’s OK

 

It’s sounds like a massive cliche but life really is a journey.  I am learning more about myself and who I am as a Mum along the way. And in turn more about what I want from blogging.

 

I’ve realised my main objective is to be real. So here is a list of the ways me and my life are perfectly imperfect:

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• I sometimes (more often than I’d like to admit) forget to brush the kid’s teeth.
• We change our bed linen about every three weeks.
• Sometimes my eldest’s bed linen has a faint whiff of wee.
• I only remember to wash the towels when they start to smell damp.
• 1 in 5 plants will die in my care.
• I never iron.
• I do occasionally use hair straighteners to sort out the worst creases.
• I pass off homemade cards from the kids as a cute craft project. The reality is I forget to pick actual ones of from Paperchase. Also, four quid for a card is a piss take!
• My kids often eat pesto pasta more than once a week. I change the side vegetables though. So that’s ok.
• Or fish fingers. Obvs.
• I own several pairs of knickers that are older than Bertie.
• Truthfully my biggest granny pants are my favourite.
• 

  Current freezer situation

  Until recently there was a dress at the bottom of the laundry basket that I last wore in my twenties.  I will never a) get round to getting it drycleaned b)  fit back into it.
• I am a jealous friend. I get a pang envy when I see two mates hanging out with out me.
• I aspire to buy classic high-end fashion pieces. But am still a sucker for novelty fashion bits.
• I sometimes drink milk straight for the carton. It’s posh almond milk though, so….
• I sometimes (always) pretend to ignore that the bin needs taking out.
• I haven’t kept-up with my first born’s baby book. I didn’t even start one with my second.  Documenting their entire lives on social media an excellent alternative though.  They’re sure to treasure those pixelled squares in years to come
• My cupboards and draws are all a mess. And not just a bit.
• The wendy house has become a very small garden shed where we shameless shove random shit.
  
  

  Our ‘Art Cupboard’.

• Our car. How do I even begin to explain how hideous our car is?
• Most of the play dough is either mixed to a nondescript brown shade, either that or its rock hard.
• Our jigsaw puzzles are in complete.
• The majority of lego men are headless
• The olive oil hasn’t got a lid.
• The pestle has no mortar.
• I only buy grated cheese because I am too lazy to grate it for the kids.
• Often the garlic, onion and potatoes have sprouted.
• I never clean the oven.
• Can never find the sellotape.
• There are 3 layers of varnish on my toes. I couldn’t find the remover.
• And as for the Plastics/Tupperware drawer. It only consists of mismatched sets and untouched pink Ikea plates, cups, bowls and cutlery which my boys CATEGORICALLY REFUSE TO USE.
•  I NEVER listen to my voicemails.
• I recently had to remove my knickers midway through the day because they were cutting into my thigh.
• I then went to dinner commando.
• The boys end up in our bed every single night.
• And no. The Gro Clock doesn’t work on them. Partly because I’m incapable of learning to set it even though I’ve read the instructions 67 times.
• I know for a fact there’s a Christmas decoration (a large sparkly reindeer) on the shelf downstairs. It’s July. But hey we are nearer to next Christmas than last. So may as well leave him there.
• There are at least 3 unsheathed tampons at the bottom of my bag.
• They are frequently accompanied by a flaccid Babybel.
• We still haven’t written Thank You Cards from The Boys Birthdays.  In November and January.
• That one genuinely makes me feel sick with shame.
• Now I have started this list I don’t know if it’ll ever end.
• You see there are SO many things that fall short of the ideal version of my life.
  
  

  Ball Pit of Doom

• I reckon I could write it indefinitely.
• But the reason I am writing them is not as some sort of list of shame.
• The opposite.
• I want to make prove to myself how minor they are.
• How they aren’t worth worrying about.
• I HOPE that these imperfection don’t make me rubbish or useless. They just make me really really normal.
• Our house is respectable and homely.
• My children are loved and healthy (although currently recovering from Chicken Pox).
• My husband and I like each other the majority of the time.
• We sometimes have sex.
• I have a circle of incredible mates. We may not see as much as we once did. But when we do we have an excellent time.
• My body isn’t as firm as it once was. My face isn’t as flawless. But it’s holding up OK.
• The dog gets walked. (He only drinks from the potty once a week).
• The dishwasher gets put on.
• The mortgage gets paid.
• We are happy. We are safe and we are trying our best.
• Someone recently DM’d me with this AMAZING piece of advice.
• It’s so good that it requires capital letters:
• WE JUDGE THE WORST OF OURSELVES BY THE BEST OF EVERYBODY ELSE.
• Take a moment to take that in.
• It’s true. So so true.
• Don’t believe the versions of peoples lives what you see online or even when you go round to have a glass of wine.
• Everybody has crap hidden in their cupboards or stashed under the bed.
• Everybody argues about the fact that men are incapable of seeing the stair pile.
• Nobody has an underwear drawer of expensive, well fitting undies. Surely even the ones that do have a pair of ‘period pants’ lurking at the back?
• Life is far too short to worry about immaculate bathrooms.
• Truth is I’d rather my kids described to me as fun than pictured me as tidy but uptight.
• I don’t expect them to be perfect. I love their flaws.
• I want them to strive for happiness, not perfection.
• I figure the way to do that is to lead by example.
• To give ourselves a break.
• To focus on feelings, not appearances.
• Better a home filled with headless lego men and sticky Marmite jars, than a perfect facade with no space for soul, fun and the occasional spot of madness.
• That’s my excuse anyway.
  
  

  Me in all my glory. Learning to be ok with being Perfectly Imperfect.