I don’t know many mothers who wouldn’t love to look polished and have a squeaky clean home when they walk out of the door in the morning. Be well dressed, put their make-up on, style their hair perfectly. I so want to have the time and energy to do these things… but that is certainly not my reality. Sometimes I don’t even brush my hair; I roll out of bed and it goes right up in a bun. The last few times I put makeup on and dressed up was a refreshing reminder of how I used to be. Not only do I enjoy looking nice, but Husband appreciates it too. I think we’d have 15 kids by now if Husband came home to me in heels vacuuming with a 10 pound roasted turkey on the table every day. But alas, the times I clean up are more often for people I hardly know… like my dentist or the kids’ doctor.
Why do I choose to look like a college student? Several reasons, I guess. For one, I would rather pretend to be asleep while Husband gets the kids out of bed. Or because I’d rather lay in bed with my boys during the few minutes we all have together before Husband has to go to work. Or it’s because I enjoy playing with Flash (and by “playing” I mean he asks me to play a game with him on the iPad, but he really just wants me to observe all his Fruit Ninja skills). Oh, and also because if I leave my two sons alone for 10 seconds they will have completely torn the entire house apart. Seriously… I have no idea how they can be so efficient at destroying a room, yet it takes them 45 minutes to get their shoes and coats on.
Anyway – I still contemplate whether or not to make the effort to look like I engage in some form of personal hygiene like I used to before taking the boys out of the house. When Flash was a baby, I made some futile attempts to achieve “perfection.” It was something I felt I had to do. I expected it of myself. I think seeing all those Hally Barrys and Martha Stewarts and Heidi Klums on TV made it even worse. And part of me assumed it was what Husband expected. But I was wrong. One of the most freeing experiences I’ve had in the past few years was when Husband told me he doesn’t understand why moms feel the need to be superwoman all the time. Suddenly I didn’t feel so guilty. I remembered that Hally and Martha and Heidi all have their behind-the-scenes make-up artists, nannies, and personal trainers! So I decided to embrace those yoga pants and deal with those dusty surfaces. And in all honesty, I’m much happier being imperfect.