Perfection

I was accused this week, of being a perfect mom. I laughed, well really, guffawed. OK, OK, If I'm going to keep it real, I hafta' say that I snorted tea out my nose. I am in NO way a supermom. I've met her, so I know! The Supers are always on time. Their kids clothes always match. I don't mean with each other (although I've seen them that way too), I mean they are not wearing green fireman pants with a purple Dora shirt and flip flops in February. They do daily devotions, DAILY! They eat organic, home cooked meals, made FROM SCRATCH! And they both teach Sunday School. Mrs. always does her exercise, her quiet time, date nights and her hair.

Unlike Mrs. Super, my kids leave the house in mismatched socks, underwear on backwards, in snow boots in June. We forget to floss, heck, we forget to brush some days! I do not EVER want my friends, or even acquaintances, to confuse me with Mrs. Super!

But this accusation has really made me think. Do people really see me that way? As the mom who has it all together? I like to think I'm living real. That by sharing the dumb, funny things we do, the way we really live, that my mommy friends will know we are all down in the mud together. I'm not the judgmental mom frowning at you while your kid tantrums in the store, or the super mom with a van full of soccer champs. I'm the mom who can't find her keys. EVER! The mom who's kids eat cookies for breakfast, corndogs for lunch and pizza for dinner all on the same day!

Underneath my clothes I wear no cape, just underwear. On inside out.