I have a confession to make.  I’m not perfect.  *Gasp*

And actually, I think I’m about as far from perfect as you can get.  Now, I suspect some of that self-deprication stems from a little thing I call my OCD.  I think it all originates from growing up in a house where drink glasses were wisked away to the dishwasher the moment they were set down empty.  I know.  I have problems.  Blame it on my mother.  I can’t even begin to imagine what kind of complexes my daughter is going to have.
Instead of cleaning my house last night for impending holiday guests, I created a blog button.
Not so much my priority for the evening…  But isn’t it pretty?
I had rationalized that it was too early to start prep cooking for Sunday’s feast.
And pretended the toilets weren’t disgusting.
Because as much as I want to be “that mom” (you know the one that goes to the gym everyday, gets errands completed with two kids in tow, keeps a spotless house, and has dinner in the crock pot all by 10a), I know that I am not.  And I’m trying to make my peace with that.  But it’s not easy.
Lately life has been one big lesson in contentment.  And while I look at others and often times wish my life were different, I know that this path has been put before me to teach me something important.  To learn to live more simply, more appreciatively, more consciously. 
Two years ago really began a new chapter for our family.  With our first baby on the way and both my husband and I recently laid off, we were totaly unprepared to deal with the situation before us. 
It was like going through the five stages of grief.  Or maybe more like a 12-step program. 
Initially there was fear.  Lots of fear.  “How were we going to survive?”  And then there was denial.  “Of course!  Unemployment!  We’re gonna be fine…”  Then there was desperate zealousness.  (I know that’s not a stage/step.  Work with me here.)  And I threw myself into figuring out how to be a supermom, scouring the interweb for some magic bean that would allow me to be a full time stay at home mom.  But when it was all said and done, I had to accept the fact that the numbers didn’t add up.  And that something had to change.
So, here I am. 
And even though I don’t get to stay home and have crafting playdates, and my house may not always look the way I’d like, or I long for a small dose of train-wreck cable tv…  I know that every sacrifice makes us a stronger family. 
Also, I’m pretty sure my kid won’t grow up with an obsession about clean baseboards.  She may not even know that they are supposed to be cleaned.  And she might be better off because of it.
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