Two words: mor. ning.

I used to want everyone to think I was perfect. I think you call that perfectionism….

Just ask Erna. We recently figured this whole thing out (recently being, like, 6 years ago): I was busy pretending I was perfect and she was busy thinking I was perfect and, thus, feeling bad about her own “imperfections.” Nice. No. Not a good situation.

She’d end up resenting me. And, all along she was so much closer to “perfection” than I was. I walked around with this mask on, and she was as transparent and authentic as can be. Beautiful.

I’m not perfect. I’m not perfect. I’m not perfect.

Mor. Ning.

Morning. Sounds an awful lot like “mourning.” Curious thing, that….

How to wake up in the morning to HYPER TODDLER CRAZINESS all around you and be that PERFECT MOTHER you expect yourself to be right then and there?

Me in the morning? Me MOTHERING in the morning? Not perfect. Nightmare.

Moody, Grouchy, Irritable, Angry, GROG, Scary….

In the morning I’m WAY closer to HORRIBLE MOTHER than to PERFECT MOTHER — on the scale of horrible-mom-to-perfect-mom.

Maybe my new binge-free diet will help?

Maybe going to bed early will help?

Maybe a full on LOBOTOMY???

Certainly, PINK PINK PINK and PRINCESSES PRINCESSES PRINCESSES does not help….

…certainly not first thing in the morning.