NOT Perfect, But I Want to Be and I Want You to Think I Am!

"My idea of who I should be is at war with who I am. I want to be perfect in every situation. I just do. I want to know what to do. I want to know how to do it right. And I want to do it. All. By. My. Big. Self. Not only do I want to do everything perfectly, I want to look perfect while I do it." Grace for the Good Girl, Emily P. Freeman.

Reflecting can be painful

Anyone who knows me knows this is true about me, but the truth is, I don't do it perfectly, that part I hide. I'm not hiding some deep dark sin (sorry people), it's subtle, small, and seems so trivial that it's easy to justify hiding it. "It's no big deal" I tell myself. Ok, confession time!

I yell at my kids, (I know probably not as much as I shocker as I'd hope you thought it was). I fear my kids don't love God as much as I hope you think they do. They are "good" kids, don't get me wrong, but they struggle to be "on fire" for God, as many teen Christians do. I'm not as good as a wife as I hope you think I am. My "good wife" mask looks pretty good, except when I let my real self leak through with a complaint about my husband, or a dirty look I cast his way when I think he's being annoying. My house isn't always clean, some days it's down right embarrassing. Like. Right. Now.

I am a perfectionist I'm about to go back on the mission field and I want people desperately to think I've got it all together. I'm afraid if they find out that I fear and I feel lonely and alone sometimes, then no one will want to partner with us. Missionaries are supposed to be perfect and have everything planned out, right? They are supposed to be super Christians. But we don't have all the plans together, we truly have put ourselves in a position of forced trust in God's provision, and the trust is, I'm not completely convinced it will work out (at least the way I have planned). I do not have "super" faith, I have to consistently take my thoughts captive and recommit to the weak faith I actually have.

Wow, now I'm embarrassed for myself. I also fear that this authentic confession will come across as "trendy" with some hidden agenda to make myself appear even more "perfect" in my imperfection. I've gone back in forth with whether I should even post this. This is not like my other posts, humorous comedy about my failings as a recovering supermom. This one is raw truth, and I have to admit, I like salted, seasoned, steamed truth better than the raw stuff anyway (unless it's dipped in ranch).

Superman Graduates Kindergarten

Call me a scrooge, but as a society, we may be over-celebrating our kids' tiniest achievements  This past week I watched my 6 year old "graduate" from Kindergarten.  It's really not that hard to count to 100, stand in line, and learn your ABC's is it? Yet, for $50 I got to view my littlest in a cute blue graduation cap and gown (we only got to keep the tassel) and listen to them sing "I wanna be a part of it, 1st grade, 1st grade" to the tune of New York, New York (sorry, now that song's gonna be stuck in your head).  Are our hopes so low that we have to get photos of our kids in a graduation cap and gown after Kindergarten, 6th grade and 8th grade, just in case they don't make it to their high school graduation. 

You'd think people were trying to catch a glimpse of Tom Cruise the way they pushed their way to the front to get a picture of their "graduate".  My husband politely asked a lady if she could sit down because she was blocking everyone's view, let's just say she didn't oblige.  One family in front of us literally stood the entire time blocking everyone's views. It was about to get MMA in there! I'm not sure I have high hopes for the graduates based on their parents' behavior, but then again it was KINDERGARTEN GRADUATION and that only happens ONCE in a lifetime.  So does first grade, but now I digress… 

 There were about 60 kindergartners at my son's graduation.  Each kid was asked what they wanted to be when they grew up.  Over half the boys said, "I wanna be a cop!"  Not sure they're watching the news lately.  Half the girls said, "I wanna be a teacher."  The most creative responses were, a pizza man, an ice cream man (hello Ben and Jerry's) and one little girl said, "Marine Biologist." (I believed her).  My son, donning a Superman cape over his cap and gown, proudly walked up the center aisle and declared, "When I grow up, I'm gonna be Superman."   The PE teacher approached me afterward to let me know that Superman wasn't too far off from what he might end up being.  He was the only one who mentioned wanting to be a superhero.  Let's just say I may have screamed my head off in pride! 

The after party was just as fun.  Parents came bearing gifts of candy leis and gift bags full of fun stuff.  My son asked where his gift was.  I said, "It's Kindergarten graduation, get through High School, then we'll talk."  Ok, I didn't say that, but I definitely thought it.  I'm not sure what the fail rate is for Kindergarten, but I'm not sure it's as high as our dropout rate for high school. Despite all the fan-fare, Kindergarten is now over, summer has begun and I'm teaching him that not everything someone does is deserving of a cap and gown, gifts, and trophies.  Jumping a bike is definitely worth videoing it in slo-mo, reading a book is worth a hug, finishing dinner is worth a cookie, and going a full day without throwing a rock at your sister's head, deserves a half-hour of screen time! (yes these are actual events)  We need to celebrate our kids for who they are every day in small ways, rather than over-celebrate mediocre achievements with big events.  I know, it was KINDERGARTEN!!! 

Mom's Weekend Away

Blinds down and misc. mess

Leaving kids with the hubby is hard for any recovering supermom!  My husband's reassuring words to me are, "They'll survive."  I have my doubts!  I mean, no one can survive on macaroni and cheese, cereal, chips, chocolate milk and ice cream for long!  They really should do a documentary entitled, "Dad's Food Inc."  The first time I left my kids with my husband overnight, I made out a color coded excel spreadsheet displaying the meals, the meal times, snacking options, and daily schedule which included what types of games to play which days, nap times, bed times, book titles, etc...  You'd think I was leaving my kids with a monkey! I forgot to mention that I had prepared the meals and had labeled them in the fridge.  I was pretty sure my kids would be eating paint chips or making bark bread if I didn't prepare for my absence.

Thankfully, I'm recovering now from my neurosis and I'm happy to report that I'm on my way to a full recovery!  This past weekend I went on a retreat from Friday night until Sunday afternoon.  I was scheduled to make ONE meal the whole weekend and I was partnered up with a TEAM of people who would work alongside me to feed slightly more people than I normally feed.  On a given weekend I feed my family ONE HUNDRED times! (okay, not one hundred, but it is somewhere upwards of 10 times, if you include snack times).  Also I only did dishes and unloaded the dishwasher twice! The whole weekend!

Torn up cracker boxes???

In order to prepare my family for my absence,  the only things I did were clean the house and make pulled pork in my new crock pot which my friends gave me for my 40th birthday in October (I know, shock and awe, how did I survive).  I also called my husband to make sure he picked up my daughters from ballet and soccer.  But, hey, I've come a long way from color coded excel spreadsheets!

After an amazing weekend of rest, relaxation, reflection and training, I came home earlier than I think I was expected.  The house was amazing, my kids really stepped up and kept it clean the whole weekend.  HA HA, no way!  There were things around the house I can't even figure out what they were being used for!  The pile of shredded cereal and cracker boxes, the aluminum foil on the couch, dirty bowls with forks stuck to the carpet, a chair in the middle of the living room, wrappers, computers, dirty socks, toys, a wooden spoon (I can guess what that was used for) and the kicker, my blinds were laying on the ground!  That was just the living room.  In the kitchen, the crock pot I cooked the pulled pork in from Friday was still sitting on the counter with bacteria ridden remains. It was painful for me to take pictures.

Tin foil on couch?

The old me would have blown the blood vessels in my eyes out. I would have lectured (okay yelled, maybe even screamed) at my kids about their messiness and the importance of responsibility.  It would have been an award winning speech that moms around the world would be able to replicate.  It would be translated into all the major languages and kids would be transformed into cleaning beasts! (eye rolling is not a valid way to determine the effectiveness of a lecture).  It would be a lie to say I laughed it off and said "Oh well."  I started cleaned up and rehearsing speeches I would give, but in the end I chose to hug my kids and tell them I missed them.  Someday, I won't be cleaning their messes and although I think that will make my life easier, it's bitter sweet because my kids will be grown and I won't be able to hug them every day.

So today, I will choose to look at their messes as reminders that their time with me is short, the mess in temporary, but love will last...oh yeah, and they survived :)

The Coup D'Maman

I've been overthrown by a pair of 13 year old identical twin girls.  On Sundays we go to church and we are NEVER on time, (it's not my fault, it's my 6 kids' fault, and my husband who takes longer to get ready than I do!)  Well, apparently my twins had had enough.  This morning I was abruptly awakened at 7:45 (church starts at 9:00, so I generally try to sleep until 8:25).   My twin girls literally jumped on my bed and yelled, "It's time to get up, we're NOT going to be late to church this morning!"  I moaned like a California sea lion and told them (ok lied), I would get up...in a minute.

Ten minutes later they came in again, this time fully annoyed, and said, "I can't believe you're not up yet, we are leaving in twenty minutes."  I replied, "I can't believe you're so bossy!"  Apparently, today was the day they decided to take a page out of my own parenting book and feed it to me for breakfast without sugar on it or anything!  I crawled out of bed, cleared the sleep out of my eyes and proceeded to get ready. My daughter came up a third time, and said, "Oh good, you're up." Am I really that irresponsible that I need to be checked on three times to make sure I'm out of bed?   I mean, I have kept six kids alive up to this point, which should count for something! 

The New Dictators 

I walked downstairs and my daughter handed me a bowl of eggs with toast, "Here's your breakfast, Mom."  I looked around and all my kids were ready, including my Ethiopian kids whose hair has to be tamed by Siegfried & Roy (we have them flown in weekly for the taming).  Everyone was eating scrambled eggs with cheese (or breakfast burritos) and buttered and honeyed toast. I was sure this was the rapture and I had already been caught up in Heaven.  Awakened from my dream by the extreme quiet (like any mom with toddlers knows about), I realized that my kids were all in the car already.  

Screen shot of when we got to church

On the way to church, my daughters encouragingly added that we were going to get to church today at the time we normally leave the house.  Whatever (insert eye roll aimed at my girls)!  When we did arrive at church at 8:49, I drove around the parking lot pretending to look for a parking spot.  Really I was just trying not to be TOO early, I have a reputation to uphold and I was the only person under 65 in the parking lot!  My girls triumphantly skipped toward the front of the church while singing a song about being on time. So apparently, our roles have already reversed!  I thought I would be in adult diapers before they became responsible enough to care for me!  In truth it was the most peaceful drive and Sunday morning ever.  I wasn't yelling at my kids to get ready (they were yelling at me), I didn't have to make breakfast, wipe faces, tie shoes, fix hair, crate the dog, yell some more, get in the car, get back out of the car to get things and kids I forgot, and drive like a mad woman to church (we've already established my award winning driving skills).  I could get used to this new dictatorship! Also... it may be time to confess, that I may be the problem and reason we’re late (or...I could still blame my husband, he was sick in bed and stayed home today). 

Illegal Parking

Our legal system makes my head spin!  Today concludes the saga which began two months ago with the recognition of my amazing third world driving skills (aka, I got two tickets in one week).  I received certificates of recognition so I have proof that my driving skills are award winning.  Two tickets equals 5 points on my driving record, highest points win right!  Except, driving is scored like golf, darn it!  

The first of such recognition occurred as I was late to an orthodontist appointment.  Everyone knows that if you miss those, it's THREE YEARS before they will reschedule you!  I wasn't going to be late, so I was speeding.  I was going 20 over (I know shocking!).  He pulled me over and my main thought was "Crap, now I'm really going to be late."  Now that I'm forty, apparently my crow's feet don't allow me to get out of tickets like in past, but he was gracious and charged me for only going 1-10 over. 

The second was a week or so later, when I "yielded" at a stop sign (there was no one coming!).  I considered having my kids scream at the top of their lungs and as the cop approached I would stick my wrists out the window and say, "Just take me in officer, I could use a good night's sleep, peace and quiet, and a meal served to me which I didn't have to cook. It'll be like a retreat."  However, I settled for the lecture about my bad driving skills and accepted my "certificate".  Darn crow's feet! 

5 points on my driving record would triple my insurance, so I decided to go see the judge.  I went in the day after Christmas, there were only 4 crazy people who showed up to court that day (we've already established my sanity in previous posts).  I was called up first.  I was asked how I wanted to plea.  "Guilty" I said semi-quietly amid snickers in the courtroom. Who comes to traffic court and says their guilty? At least plea "No Contest."   The judge looked at me and smiled, "Are you sure?"  I told him I was sure, but I wanted to go to traffic school so I wouldn't have the points on my record. He said I had to plea "Not Guilty" and talk to the District Attorney for that.  I asked him what I was supposed to say to the district attorney when I'm NOT "Not Guilty".  He laughed and said, "You're 'Not Guilty,' I say so, come back on the 7th of January and talk to the District Attorney."  I walked out while the rest of the people in court gave me smiles and thumbs up, like I had just won the lottery. A friend later said, "Did you feel like Jesus was declaring you not guilty"  Ha! 

Illegal Parking

So, this morning was the day.  I had to meet with the District Attorney.  He calls my name and says, "So, you pleaded 'Not Guilty' to these two tickets” I told him I had pleaded both guilty, and, to clarify, NOT "not guilty", but the judge pleaded on my behalf "Not Guilty" and said I needed to talk to the District Attorney about the points.  He laughed and I proceded to tell him my story about yielding instead of stopping, speeding to the ortho appt. and that my 3 years as a missionary in Guatemala didn't help my ability to obey traffic rules.  In the end, he told me I was the first the first person in all his years as a District Attorney who admitted guilt and he changed my failure to stop at a stop sign to illegal parking which is zero points on my record.  

I learned a $240 lesson, obey traffic rules... and be honest!  I also learned that when I pick up my kids' friends and my kids tell them "You'll like my mom's driving, she drives fast."  I shouldn't be proud of that (although I kind-of was because I liked being the 'cool' fast driving mom).  Maybe I should change professions and go into race car driving. 

The First Step is Admitting...

I have a problem!  Growing up with a recovering alcoholic mom and stepdad, I heard numerous times, "The first step is admitting you have a problem."  Well, here it is... I secretly (well not so secretly now) hope my kids forget to do their chore so I can impose another task on them which is something I've been procrastinating doing or plain don't want to do.  There, it's out there.  Figuring out a chore system that mobilizes 6 children of differing ages has made me fantasize about relocating to Bali and living in a beach hut on a daily basis! 

This year I thought I came up with a system that works to my benefit.  If I have to remind my kids to do their chore more than one time, I impose another (less fun) chore.  I've explained to them in my best "I'm doing this for your good" tone, that if I have to remind them to do their chore more than once, that is more work for me; therefore, I will be forced to impose additional chores.  I mean, seriously, I have to answer to God for how well I've trained these precious ones (ok, that may not be my only motive). 

Baking Pantry

The other day, two of my kids had forgotten to do their chore after I had reminded them the customary one time.  I secretly gave myself a high five in my head for being so clever and straightened my face to make sure I looked disappointed at their poor memory.  My 14 year old sighed, "Oh man, what do I have to do?"  I told him he had a choice (choice always softens the blow and makes me seem extra generous), he could organize my baking pantry (yes, I have a baking pantry, I'm still in recovery not recovered) or the hallway closet.  He chose the baking pantry which left the hallway closet to my 13 year old daughter.  I literally had to walk away to keep them from seeing me do a little happy dance.  

Hall Closet

My game closet needs reorganizing, the regular pantry could use some help, the baseboards needs vacuuming, the stairs need vacuuming and there are two other closets that I've been pretending don't exist!  Here's to hoping I have forgetful kids today :)

Head Staples

Yep, it's what it sounds like.  I had just gotten out of the shower when my youngest son Kaiyin assaulted me about having cookies (I may be being slightly melodramatic).  Allowing my ADHD kid to have sugar plus red and yellow die was not going to fit in with my schedule that day, and if you know anyone with ADHD you KNOW what I'm talking about.  He skipped off downstairs which should have been my clue that he wasn't interested in what my schedule looked like that day.  I heard a crash followed by blood curdling scream followed by stomping upstairs in my direction.  

My friend asked me later that day if I was panicked. Ummmm... I wouldn't say panicked, more like ticked off!  In typical recovering supermom fashion, I preceded to lecture my 5 year old about sneaking cookies off the top shelf when I specifically told him he couldn't have cookies.  Also, I let him know I didn't have time to go to the doctor to get his bleeding head fixed up!  Now before you call social services on me, I did get ice and put enough pressure on it to stop the bleeding.  Now came the decision I dreaded.  Who would do the best job stitching up my son, urgent care (which everyone knows is the antithesis of urgent) or my pediatrician.   Well to be honest, the "best job" wasn't my only factor in my decision making process.  Realistically, I was trying to figure out who would be the quickest.

I called my pediatrician first, she said it would take an hour and half to get him in... bummer!  I had to take my chances with urgent care.  I called to see how busy it was and she said there were only four people waiting.  Perfect!  I rushed over to urgent care after guilting my 14 year old into coming with me to hold ice on Kaiyin's head by reminding him he had been through this 3 times (don't judge) and by the time I got there, there were only 2 people ahead of me.  SCORE!  The lady at the front desk made a comment about me being pretty calm.  She didn't know I'd done this stitches thing 5 times in heads alone and two in fingers!  

I knew I had made the right decision, until an hour and half went by and I was kicking myself for not going to the pediatrician.  Thinking I could still rectify it, I called them to see if I could still get in and ditch the NOT urgent care.  While on hold, they of course called my name.  Dilemma... I hung up with my pediatrician and asked the nurse how much longer it was going to be.  She said he'd be right in, which everyone knows is code for 30 more minutes!  By the time the doctor entered the room, my 14 year old had whined 14 times about how he knew he shouldn't have come, he was starving to death and the first words out my 5 year old’s mouth to the doctor were, "my mom's mad"  I'm surprised he didn't call social services on me at that point!  

By the time we got finished, Kaiyin had 7 shiny staples in his head and was calling himself the "Real Iron Man" because he didn't cry one tear and had metal in his head.  He finished the experience by high fiving the doctor while jumping off the medical table. Clearly he is a superhero.  When it was all said and done, he looked at me with his sweet smile and big brown eyes and asked, "Are you still mad at me m om?"  As my heart melted I answered, "Yes! Don't steal anymore cookies."