F'ing Perfect

Guess what? We’re not perfect. You may try toadjust yourself to mirror that colorful, beautifully lustrous woman in themagazine playing mom to two gorgeously coifed and dressed cherubs, but inreality, she’s not real. You’re real, and right now you look haggard, yourmascara is smudged below your eye, your hair is probably falling out of yourloose, half-hazard bun, and you’re scouring the house for socks for put on your18 month-old tearing around the house with her tangled mop of hair in her eyes.*big sigh* It’s OK. This is normal, and this is right. I don’t read magazinesfor parents, I don’t look at fashion magazines or, come on now, fitnessmagazines. I think you know why. Take a look around at the moms at soccer, themoms rushing their kids in the door of school, the moms who drop their kids offin front of school because they’re still in the pajamas, the moms who look liketheir eyes will pop out of their heads as they corral three children around ashopping cart at 5:00 p.m. trying to find something quick, and healthy, God-damnit,to make for dinner tonight. These are your heroes. These are your sisters-in-arms.We are not, no matter how we attempt to look polished and together, perfect. Weare human, we fumble, we fail, we fight, we yell, we trudge through our lives,and at the end of the day we smile, because those dirty little cherubs rollingaround on your oh-god- I-really-need-to-vacuum-carpet are laughing at their ownfarts and smushing their face against the dog’s face, and you’re just happy,because this imperfect, chaotic mess is your colorful, lustrous, gorgeous life.