Picture Perfect is Overrated

I’ve always been one of those people who cares to much about what others think and trying to make my life look perfect. NEWS FLASH—it’s not. No ones life is perfect.

There have been so many times I have wanted to delete my Facebook just for the sole purpose that it has made me feel worse about myself because I am constantly comparing myself to other moms, other birthday parties, and comparing my children to theirs.

It wasn’t until after a few months I had Kinze that it dawned on me, I am wasting to much of my time trying to make my life look perfect, portraying a false image, and thinking to much about what others think of me. Grady’s first birthday I went above and beyond to please everyone and make MYSELF look amazing over making my sons special day the best it could be for HIM. I worried to much about having all the decorations, the neat cake, and the whole set up that other mothers have for their kids birthdays. I blew way to much money on something that my son who was just one won’t even remember. How selfish is that? Since when do we worry more about making ourselves look good and competing with other mothers verses doing everything we could to make memories with our children that are irreplaceable? Granted, many women are more grown up and can’t relate to this, but I honestly feel as though some women out there can.

I have finally realized that I can’t be perfect. I can’t please everyone. That I can’t be happy in my life if I am not happy with myself.

If you were to see my house right now you would see masking tape holding down burlap ribbon to the tile floor to serve as a road for Grady’s farm equipment to travel from one field (room) to the other. You will see a sink full of dishes. Loads and loads of laundry to be done in the hallway. Loads and loads of laundry to be put away in my room. Toys scattered everywhere. Papers piled a foot high that need to be filed and organized. You would see REALITY.

At the end of the day NONE of this matters. My kids aren’t going to remember me for my cleaning abilities. They are going to remember me for being their mother. On my hands and knees playing farm. Letting them make a mess while we do a craft. Reading them book after book as they sit on my lap. Letting them help me make cookies and cupcakes and instead of cleaning up the mess right away continue on with our day of playing.

You see, for SOOO long I worried to much about how others viewed me as a mother. Instead of worrying about how my own children thought of me as a mother.

So for Kinze’s birthday party I didn’t go overboard. I didn’t make an extravagant cake, buy lots of balloons, and buy her tons of gifts. I chose to make her a simple cake, plaster a happy birthday banner to the wall, and buy her things she needed verses toys that will be tossed aside before the day was over. It felt good. I didn’t care what others thought because I was happy with my decision to spend more time enjoying the day with the birthday girl.

Since staying at home, I haven’t worried about the house as much. I have spent 95 percent more of my time with my children and it feels AMAZING. Yes I get uneasy when my mother in law stops by and you can’t see the counters from the dishes and things that need put away, but then I remind myself that I am making special memories with our children. I’m not saying I never clean my house- I do as much as can with the time I am given. Could it be cleaner, yes.

Life is tooo precious to worry about the small stuff. Those that know me well, know that I am very uptight and worry about everything. Day by day I am trying to be better. Trying to put my life in the right direction.

I’m yelling it to the roof top: I AM NOT PERFECT. I am a human being. I am a mother of two. I am a woman trying to do the best for my family. I am molding the minds of our children. I am doing what makes me happy. I am living life verses putting it on auto steer and letting it take me for a ride.

I am choosing children over housework, admitting my flaws, and not hiding behind a false image anymore.

My true image is as follows:

I am small town girl. I am a mother of two. A wife to a farmer. A woman who would rather spend her days getting her hands dirty in the dirt verses getting my nails done or my hair dyed. I am simple. I feel most comfortable in jeans, a basic tee, a ball cap, and tennis shoes or boots. I love agriculture. I have a weakness for elderly people and helping them anyway I can. I have my fair share of flaws and mistakes. I love sentimental things. I’ve often been called an 80 year old in a 20 year old body. I’m an introvert. I have severe social anxiety and bipolar depression. I have a soft heart. I am sensitive. I care to much. I would go to the end of the world for someone I love. I am scared to death about losing someone close to me. Family means the world to me. And last but not least I am NOT perfect.

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