I'm not a writer. Actually, I really hate writing. I'm not a clever writer, nor am I able to write picturesque pieces about feelings. I'm not able to put together the right words to get a sarcastic point across, and I am not able to eloquently bring you to tears with a string of poetic words. I'm not a quirky writer and I'm not witty. In all honesty, I lie in bed at night, at least a couple of weeks before my blog post is due, writing and rewriting, changing topics at least three times and finally having to put the topic in a metaphorical box and place it under the bed before I can fall asleep.
I HATE cooking. I am unable to find joy in throwing random ingredients together to create a gourmet meal. I HAVE to follow a recipe or whatever in the hell I'm making won't turn out right. Cooking stresses me out. It’s not fun trying to wrangle a 22 month old who’s trying to take anything and everything off the counter top, and a five year old screaming because the wrong show is playing on Netflix. Doesn't sound like fun to me.
Forget about being CRAFTY. My anxiety escalates just thinking about crafts. In the era of social media, where Etsy, Instagram, Facebook, and Pinterest, bombard me with images of perfection, I’m constantly aware of my ineptitude. The perfect #foodporn #foto on Instagram puts my dinners to shame nightly. The family portrait with everyone in coordinating outfits makes me roll my eyes because now my children look like complete slobs in their play clothes. Why make anything from Pinterest when I can buy it from Etsy and pretend I made it? Let's not forget about the perfectly designed rooms you see all over social media. My house is truly clean when everyone's sleeping, maybe.
My point is (yes, I'm finally getting there), that it's ok that I hate writing, cooking, and crafting. The more I push myself outside my comfort zone in these areas, the more confident I become. Attacking obstacles head on teaches my daughters perseverance. Let me tell you, rearing girls is not for the faint of heart. I cook dinner a few nights a week but my significant other cooks more. I do crafts with my older daughter while my younger daughter naps. It’s become our special mother daughter time we share and treasure because little sister is not interrupting us.
My kids look cute only in the mornings because by the afternoon, they're messy from playing in the dirt all morning. My house, more times than not is a mess, but my kids are happy. I'm horribly unorganized and often late because I snuggle too long in bed with my girls. I'm perfectly imperfect. Slowly, I'm becoming ok with being the world’s most “OKest” Mom.
I know this season of life won’t last long, so I have to purposefully make an effort to not take life too seriously. I’m learning daily to go with the crazy flow, and living in the now. In all honestly I’m just winging life. I’ll take the sloppy, messy, unorganized “in the moment” because very soon these two little girls will no longer be “Little” and want to snuggle with Mommy, play in the dirt, or do silly crafts. There will be time when they’re older or gone for me to be organized, creative, and a gourmet chef. Until then, I will enjoy this beautiful crazy life.