The Perfection Perspective

The Perfection Perspective

The elevator doors opened, and I instantly heard a very familiar sound. Screaming, shrieks, piercing giggles, and futile correction. I breathed a small sigh of relief as my own children marched somewhat quietly to the hotel dining room and gave a compassionate smile and “good morning” to an obviously tired momma and clearly overwhelmed daddy as we passed by their table. Dad had three kids probably under the age of three all squirming on his lap which made him look like an awkward octopus as Momma tried to eat her breakfast, which any other mom knows no longer even feels worth it when you’re watching your children spin out of control.

My own kids walked to the breakfast line, got plates, and somewhat calmly served themselves or waited to be served. After about five trips of my own back and forth getting a fork to replace the dropped one, a cup of juice, a bowl of cereal, one more napkin, and the finally cooked waffle, I was heading back to our table. Sweet tired Momma was walking toward the coffee and passed me along the way. In a tone that was a mix between feigned laughter and near breakdown, she asked, “HOW do you get your kids to behave like that??” I laughed and thanked her for her polite comment, but then confessed, “We have been here nearly every weekend for the last three months. The first several times were disastrous. We’ve had a lot of practice, and even still, sometimes it’s disastrous.” I smiled as she left, and she seemed (even if slightly) relieved.

As I sat down to manage my own practiced chaos, I really thought hard about that tired momma. I thought of the look of defeat and exhaustion, and I thought, “If she only knew…”

If she’d only seen the first time we ever went down to breakfast and sweet husband and I both nearly left in tears for our kids’ wild behavior and the judgmental stares.

If she’d only seen the next several times that I went down alone to shuttle breakfast up to everyone in the room because we couldn’t bear for the hooligans to run publicly rampant.

If she’d only seen the way I rehearsed the breakfast rules over and over and over again and tested them on the protocol and prayed to God that they would somehow behave.

If only she’d seen the victory dance I did in my head the first time we went down to breakfast, and they didn’t act like whackos.

If only she’d seen my own look of defeat when I hurried them to the truck with tears in my eyes and did my best not to yell because that morning they had obviously forgotten all the rules.

If only she’d seen the COUNTLESS other times that I have felt like an utter failure. The tears I have cried. The times I’ve lost my cool. The scolding through clenched teeth. The fussing in volumes I’m not proud to admit. The times I’ve gone to the bathroom and prayed they wouldn’t find me for even twelve seconds. The times I felt like I just didn’t have anything good left to give. And trust me, there have been plenty of examples of all of THOSE times.

So what is the point? The point is perspective. Perspective can be a cruel portrayer of the facts. Gaining the right perspective can go a HECK of a long way. This Momma’s immediate perspective of my children and my parenting was that we had it all together. Ohhhh Momma, if you only knew! If we all only knew! We spend so much time comparing ourselves to others and feeling less than great as a mother because of this momma or that momma. But we don’t see their every moment. We aim for perfection through the lens of tainted perspective, and that is a terribly unfair way to evaluate our own story.

Maybe you’re in a moment of compassion for the tired momma because for this five minutes your children are keeping it together. Maybe you’re the tired momma near to tears because your children are completely bananas. Rest assured, you are not alone. You are never alone. None of us, and I do mean NONE. OF. US. have it all together. We are all just sleep deprived, guilt ridden, clinging to sanity mommas trying to make it through the best we can. One thing doesn’t change. If you’re worrying the slightest bit if you’re doing a good job… you’re doing a great job. Keep going, Momma. Try to grasp the sleep, keep the guilt at bay, and cling to the sanity for one more day. If you only knew… just how FABULOUS those kids think you are. Keep on, Momma. Keep on…

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