Imperfect perfection

Pumpkin muffins are in the oven, and they're starting to smell good. I bake breakfast regularly, which is one of those things that -- because people don't bake much any more -- makes me seem like a SuperMom to some. In reality, it only takes five minutes to toss the recipe together, and it's five minutes I'm accustomed to spending. To me it's painless. 

Sometimes it's not hard to create the illusion of having super powers. All you have to do is to be good at doing one or two things that other people can't figure out how to do easily. When my kids were little, people thought I was Amazing simply because my kids' hair was brushed and their sweaters were buttoned straight and they had non-goobery noses. They thought I was Exalted because my little ones sat reasonably quietly in church.

My preschoolers had neat hair because I dislike dreadlocks in four year olds. My children pay attention during services because it's a priority for us. But just so you know, I can close the door on messy closets, and not one of my kids knows how to make a bed properly. SuperMom that I am, I'd rather leap over Legos in a single bound than pick them up. That means one of two things: either I'm patient with the messes my kids make, or I'm a slob. You choose.


Sometimes people think better of us for silly things, and sometimes they think worse of us because our priorities don't match theirs. Too bad. We're all imperfect, and we're each flawed in a different way. More to the point, each of us can help the other by being honest about where we struggle, and by sharing what we've figured out about life.
 So you're welcome to come over and have a fresh-baked pumpkin muffin today. We can have a lovely cup of coffee on the ancient sofa in my messy house, with my noisy kids who will interrupt us, and who will sometimes talk back.