At every year’s beginning, in true American fashion, I dream up a list of things that I will do differently. These things - these “resolutions” - are supposed to make me a better person. I’m going to get in better shape. I’m going to be a better mother. I’m going to quit drinking in day light hours. Seriously? New year’s resolutions are Satan’s way of making us feel like total assholes!
We are told unrelentingly to aspire to perfection. The media confuses us with their contradictory information. One day they tell us some gimmick is our only hope of staying healthy - the next it causes cancer. The celebrity A-List reminds us all that we’re not thin enough or pretty enough. Our lips are not pouty enough and our boobs are not perky enough. Our skin isn’t tan enough, our legs aren’t thin enough and our banks accounts aren’t fat enough.
They coach us to quit being negative, to focus on the things we like about ourselves. That’s right, they say, take a long hard look at yourself… Well you know what? There’s nothing long or hard about the way I look. Pretty much short and soft is what I see in the mirror. And I’m officially giving up! You know what would be really crazy? If we all stopped this ridiculous quest for perfection and just learn to love ourselves as we really are. There. I said it. It’s an effing joke (and yes, Mom, effing IS a word. Look in the dictionary somewhere between effacement and effort.)!
Speaking of effort, aren’t we all trying our hardest as it is? So you’ve fed your kids pizza for breakfast for the 4th time already this month. Wasn’t there pineapple on it? Sounds like fruit salad to me. So you woke up on Thursday morning and realized you haven’t showered since Sunday. Don’t you know we’re in a drought? “Green” is so hip-hop-right-now!
My kids are a hot ass mess. Look who their shining example is? The bananas in my fruit bowl are no longer yellow, my babies haven’t worn anything but pajamas for at least 5 days and I insist on wearing leggings as pants even though every fashionable bone in my body knows its wrong. But you know what I’m really good at? Telling my husband how hot he is. And cleaning pee off of toilet seats. And giving sugar to my less fortunate neighbor who always seems to be out.
So maybe I’m not the pretty sister and maybe some days I crack the wine a little early. Maybe my toddler knows how to use “damnit” properly in a sentence. Maybe sometimes I bribe my kids with fruit snacks so I can update my Facebook status. I’m striving every day to be the type of person I want them to grow up to be. I’m probably still going to silently judge you because you didn’t breastfeed and because you let your kids eats foods made with red dye. I’m not perfect and neither are you.
Whatdya say we learn to be ok with that?
Amen to that sister. I "effing" LOVE your hot ass! And I have always thought you were real pretty. Just sayin...
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