Far From Perfect
Our less than perfect life exposed. Let the judging begin.
I’m not sure if any of you are familiar with Celeste Barber, but if you are not, you should be. Celeste has a hilarious Instagram account which mocks gorgeous high fashion video clips, or photographs that feature beautiful models, with perfect bodies, in perfect settings, in spectacular clothing and recreates a “realistic” version of the original. She delivers a sarcastic and real life interpretation of high fashion that leaves me doubled over in laughter. As I scrolled through her instagram account, I thought about my own life and the realities of my life as a single mom of three teenage girls versus the perfected scenes in movies and television. I don’t need to recreate realistic scenes from Leave it to Beaver or The Brady Bunch to be funny, because I live it. There are dishes in my sink, bedrooms where clothing covers every inch of the floor, and the smell of dog wafts throughout the house. Here’s my literary version of what Celeste does in pictures.
*****
The sliding glass door opens as the children skip into the Brady house and gently place their dainty clean backpacks on the appropriate hooks with jackets neatly on top.They assemble at the round kitchen table sharing freshly baked chocolate chip cookies and milk as they discuss their day with one another. Mom, also known as Carol, enters the room. The children hug their mother and stepmother, collect their gear and head to their shared bedrooms to complete their homework.
*****
Cut to my door swinging open as my girls kick off their shoes into a growing pile scattered in our garage despite the stacks of shelving available for shoes. The door slams shut and they shuffle in with their oversized backpacks crushing their backs. Thud! The bags hit the mudroom floor and jackets are flung on the furniture. “Why is there never any food in this house? Like ever?” Chips, and dips sprawl across the kitchen counter as a loud pop comes from the microwave which then beeps incessantly. The microwave door flies open revealing a tomato sauce explosion and the door is slammed with the unfinished timer flashing on the screen preventing the clock from returning to the digital display. A trail of crumbs float across the counter top as the girls exit the kitchen tossing their dishes in the metal sink with a clank.
*****
Carol Brady climbs the stairs in her knee length floral dress and slowly opens the door to her stepson's room to find the boys quietly reading and writing, intently focused on their homework. She finds the same scene as she enters her daughters room. “Hi kids! How’s the homework coming along?” “Great mom! We’re almost done! We’ll be down to help you with dinner right after!”
*****
I slowly open the door to room one.”WHAT? I’m sleeping.”
Room two,”I’m on the phone. Get out.”
Room three. Pitch black, no movement even though it’s two in the afternoon.
*****
As I head towards the kitchen to prepare dinner, I spy a stack of dishes in the sink that were not there after I loaded my lunch plate into the dishwasher. I scream so that those I reside with will hear me beyond their closed doors.
“GIRLS! CAN YOU PLEASE PUT YOUR DISHES IN THE DISHWASHER!”
A faint voice from room three responds, “Wasn’t me.”
Room one screams loud and clear. “I didn’t even eat.”
Room two, no response.
*****
I prepare dinner alone and turn on some music to lighten my mood.
“TURN DOWN THE MUSIC!” screams room two.
*****
Carol Brady stands at the base of the mid-century modern staircase and smiles, practically singing as she calls, “Marcia, Jan, Cindy, Gregg, Peter, Bobby, time for dinner.” The children immediately descend down the stairs single file, dressed in neatly pressed outfits. Each takes their assigned seat at the communal table. Plates are stacked with the colorful food that’s passed around the table in elegant serving platters. The Brady’s engage in conversations which include all eight at the table. There is laughter and everyone has a napkin in their lap and chews with their mouth closed.
*****
I pick up my phone and text in the family group chat. “dinner” and place the dishes on the kitchen island ready for the self serve buffet I’ve created. I begin to assemble my meal and wait for the girls to join me. Text number two, “Is anyone eating dinner? It’s ready.” Room two texts back, “not hungry.” Room one, no response. Room three comes shuffling down the stairs in sweats that are three sizes too big and appear to have been worn for the past two days straight, with her hair in a “messy bun” or better known as bedhead. She props her phone up on the napkin holder and stares into the abyss as she eats. “Can you please turn the phone off while we eat? Can you get off the phone for a meal and talk to me?” A massive eye roll is over exaggerated to confirm I get her message.
*****
Does this sound familiar to anyone or is it just me? When I was growing up, the media presented families that were flawless. For a long time I worked hard as a mom to achieve the synergy of the Brady’s, or the Huxtables. The list of shows idealizing parenting and children’s behavior was long when I was a kid. The Waltons, The Wonder Years, Happy Days, Full House, Little House on the Prairie all presented an unattainable, unrealistic family. For a long time I chased perfection until the exhaustion became too much. Everyone posted perfect pictures on social media, and smiled wide while I was falling apart trying to keep up. Why are my kids crying when I ask to take a photo? Or flat out refusing to pose to the coveted Facebook post? Why am I sweating as I head out the door each day trying to remember all the school forms, lunches and my handbag? Shoot, did I leave the dogs in the yard? Is the oven on? What about the numerous flatirons?I don’t always serve a vegetable with dinner and we binge on candy and chocolate at all hours of the day.
It’s taken me a lot of years, hours of therapy, a crushing divorce, and an army of friends to embrace my family’s messy imperfections. I’ve learned to appreciate my mess and muck, my daughters’ age appropriate frustrating behavior, and muddy pawprints across my floor on rainy days. While I’m not always thrilled about it, I’m done trying to make it something it’s not. I’m no longer trying to take normal family life and make it perfect. I’m the mom who is still in her workout gear at 6PM, lets the sink pile up and forgets appointments and I’m owning it proudly. Sometimes I don’t feel like cooking dinner, and we argue over who will feed the dogs and no one is posting that on social media. While the Brady’s were fun to watch, I’m going to stick with the chaotic, sloppy, turbulent, loud family existence that’s perfect for us.