Oh, that sinking feeling. I'm sure most of you over-scheduled people — parents or not — know what I'm talking about. You open the dryer to transfer a load of clean, wet clothes, only to find its “empty” cavern filled with a tangled matrix of now wrinkled outfits. “So that's where the [fill in name of previously missing article of clothing] has been!” you cry, while chastising yourself for your forgetfulness — and the fact that your 11-year-old son has been wearing the same pair of blue jeans for three days. (Did I just admit that?)
As I sit here, my dryer is humming away, soon to present me with a tidy mound of shirts, socks and skivvies that I will dutifully dump in a laundry basket … which is sitting next to another laundry basket, already piled with clean apparel.
Such is life.
Now, I'd love to tell you I've got my laundry situation — indeed, my entire domestic situation — neatly “pressed and starched,” as it were. Alas, I don't. It's not for lack of trying, I can assure you. But life, like laundry, stacks up fast.
The other day, I was chatting with my friend Michelle, a lovely and gentle-spirited mom of six who exudes an air of ease and calm. I'd been feeling a bit bedraggled and beseeched her for advice. Specifically: How do you manage to pull off this whole mom thing so perfectly? “Forget perfection,” she said, pragmatically. “In fact, I tell my kids never to put me on a pedestal because I will always fail them.” Instead, Michelle confided, she simply does the best she can — chalking up her fallibility to her humanness and never beating herself up for the fact that she’s not super mom.
Because nobody's perfect.
Wow. What powerful counsel, made especially meaningful coming from someone who seems so, well, perfect. I love Michelle's realistic approach. I admire that she juggles myriad responsibilities without pressuring herself to meet or exceed some obscure cultural standard that, frankly, is utterly ridiculous.
Besides, a little wrinkle here and there never hurt anyone, right? On that note, I'm going to bid you adieu while I go emancipate my duds from the dryer. As for folding them? That'll have to wait awhile.
Thanks, Michelle.
