I am not good at making my kids clean their rooms.
I have a hard enough time keeping mine clean.
I'm not the best about making them brush their teeth twice a day, and I know this is "eww...gross," but sometimes I don't either.
I am not fantastic at cooking, so I get it when they don't want to eat what I've made. I don't really like my food either.
I send them to school with stains on their khakis and without them having taken a brush to their hair.
If it's wrinkled, it's probably being worn by my child because I don't believe in irons, and I tend to leave clean clothes in the overpacked dryer for days on end.
We rush our showers and only soap our "stanky parts" because we are in a mama-imposed, really-no-good-reason-for-it rush most days.
We eat dinner in front of the computer, or the tv, because, conversation, well, we each get enough of that, don't we?
We make noise, and we make a lot of it, and we like our pasta best slurped.
I am not a parenting expert.
THAT SH*T IS CLEAR AS DAY.
I am not an ideal parent.
But ideal according to who?
I mean, here's the thing...
I love my kids with every freakin' fiber of my anxiety-ridden being, and I will not let an hour go by without reminding them of that.
Without offering up
or a supportive comment.
So while I will probably always forget to remind them to use deodorant or enforce that they wear matching socks, what I'm sure I'll never forget is that what forever matters as a parent is not that we live up to society-imposed, general-public impressing standards, but that we set and maintain our own for OUR FAMILY.
My family may not be the one you follow on Pinterest or Instagram, but we're also the family that doesn't care, and damn, that feels good.
It's the beat of your own family's drum, and, dang, you look good marching to it.