Maybe

More often than I’d like to admit (like this morning for example), I get to my breaking point. My I can’t do it all and I’m tired of trying point. I talk to Adam and I think, “He just doesn’t get it.”

Here’s the thing. I don’t expect too much. Just perfection. Is that so much to ask? Why can’t I have perfect children that always look fabulous and smell good? That doesn’t seem like so very much to ask. Why can’t I always look fabulous while we’re at it? Why can’t I always exercise and never have ragged looking fingernails? Why can’t I expect my hair to always look great and my make-up the same? Why is it that my house can’t be in a state of perpetual peace and harmony…and cleanliness? Is it too much to ask that I don’t find cobwebs on the pot rack in my kitchen and clutter in the corners of my bedroom?

Why can’t I just be tidy and “pick it up if I lay it down”? Why can’t I instill that habit in my darling children? Why is it that I don’t make nutritious and delicious dinners every night? Isn’t that easy enough to accomplish? What’s my PROBLEM?

While I’m thinking about it, why can’t I do a better job home schooling my children? Shouldn’t the expectation be that they’re brilliant and excited about learning and about ready for college by now since I’m such an exceptional teacher?

What major flaw am I fighting that I have so many unfinished projects and un-ironed shirts hanging in my laundry room? Why don’t I read to my children enough?

And look at those baseboards? When is the last time they were dusted?

I could go on and on but we might both get too depressed. There’s our 72-hour kits, food storage, family history, scrapbooks that are 5+ years behind to consider. I am not the scriptorian I aspire to be or the homemaker or writer or gardener or wife, daughter, sister, mother, visiting teacher, YW MiaMaid advisor or in general Sister in Zion.

How can I stand being such a loser? Because he’s my good husband, Adam assures me that I’m not a loser. Sometimes that sounds like my mom telling me in junior high when I had braces and glasses and really bad hair that I was pretty. Yeah, right!

I talk to my sisters and friends though. They, because they’re my beloved beacons in a faulty world, tell me that I am NOT a loser. They point out (like Adam did) what I’m doing right. I believe them slightly more (but they’re kind of obligated to be kind to me much like Adam is). When they tell me they feel the same way though, I sit up and pay attention.

What?!

How can they? I see their radiance as spectacular mothers. I see Marianne sewing a quilt with her daughters, I see Olivia teaching her children Spanish and being excited about doing some family history on a recent trip to Los Angeles. (When have I ever done much family history, let alone on a Disneyland vacation?) I see Janet with her spotless house always looking beautiful while juggling a million responsibilities. I see Stephanie, constantly teaching her children to work and insisting beyond all his protests that her 7 year old wear a helmet when zipping around on his scooter. I think THESE women are SUCCESSES. They know what they’re doing.

When they mirror back my own feelings though, I think WHAT IS OUR PROBLEM?! Maybe we’re all doing JUST FINE. Of course we all want to improve. That. Is. Life. As much as I wish it weren’t the case.

So I was thinking, maybe in this world where I have 300 directions I should be going in and no one to tell me which one is the right one, maybe there is just one choice. Maybe I should choose happiness. When I see the cobwebs, maybe I can congratulate myself for early Halloween decorations. (Wow, I’m on top of things.) Maybe I can remind my children over and over to do the same task…. but without snarling. (Wouldn’t THAT be something?) Maybe I can step around clutter with a smile on my face and realize it will be taken care of eventually. Maybe I can criticize my children a little less and tell them I love them a little more.

Maybe.