Perfect?

When I found out I was pregnant, I had visions of the perfect baby.  S/he would sleep, be adorable, smart, funny and would be the apple of my eye.  My child would never hate me, because I wouldn't make all the mistakes my parents made, I would learn from them and get it right.

It took me weeks to purchase clothes from the baby, because I had no idea what babies wore and there were no fashion magazines.  I didn't want to put him in the wrong thing.  I wanted to get the right car seat.  I wanted to do it right.

The reality is that I don't do it right.  I am the parent, with the kids that kick each other at the corner in front of the school.  I am the parent that has to go to the psychologist to have her kid diagnosed, because well, he is diagnosable.  My kids are not perfect.  I am not the perfect mother.

I think I abandoned the idea of perfection when Sam melted down on the third day of school in front of the car line, the Principal and half the teachers.  I realized as I carried him away from the school to the car, as he screamed, you are hurting me, you are hurting me, that I sucked at this whole parenting thing.  Admitting that I suck at this is freeing, because well, now the bar is so low I can step over it.  But, more importantly it frees me from the panic of making the wrong decision and messing up our prefect.  Sure ain't no perfect over here.

Our trip around the mayberry bush today, was brought to you by the judgmental crossing guard who thinks I am a bad parent (nice to know she is on board), because I spoke sternly to my boys while the older one kicked the snot out of the younger one.  I did not address the issue with the kicking at the corner immediately, because if I have learned nothing, it is wisest to diffuse the situation and deal with the consequences at home.  Let me tell you there were consequences... 

I look at the parents that are all calm and perfect and wonder how the got there.  I am not calm and perfect, I am out of control and messy.  Things here are not where they are supposed to be.  I wonder if when, you get right down to the ones that are calm and perfect are really out of control and messy too.  I sometimes tell myself that they are just better at faking it than I am.  Maybe that is just a way for me to excuse my lack of perfect.