It feels good to laugh at myself. It feels so good to be able to say "Wedensday sucks." When someone asks how soccer practice went. At one point, I would
Have given the pretty answer. The one where I say how much growth I've seen in my child (which is true). But it feels so good to say, I hate Wednesday soccer practice. My kid is miserable for 60 percent if it and I'm super miserable for 110 percent of it.
It feels so good to laugh at the fact that I can't make pretty cake pops. I try. But man, they are UG-LY! I feels good to admit that I often forget important things like picture day. How else could I celebrate when I remember? I embrace the fact that I will never make the beautiful snacks I see on Pinterest. I still like to look. I love my stack of well loved Better Homes and Gardens magazines and that NOT ONCE willy porch look like a fall wonderland. I love that I have found support from friends in sharing my mother of the year moments which may or may not include the wee one going to school without underwear for a couple of days in a row and the eldest wearing his shorts backwards all day.
I love my imperfect, messy life. It's not pretty. Once I learned that my brave face has a time and place and that my true self deserves MORE TIME and a BIGGER PLACE, I'm happier.
What part of recognizing your imperfections has freed you?