I can hardly wait to be perfect.

laundry 2
Perfect Me

Someday, I’m going to be SO organized that I will be perfect. In fact, my entire family will be perfect, because of my contagious perfection. (And my husband’s constant, inspirational quest for self-improvement.)

This Perfect Me will get good exercise every day, outdoors when weather permits. She will remember without fail to take her vitamins. Every Saturday she will go to the market for fresh local food, which she will have lots of energy to cook into delicious, nutritious meals (because of the exercise, fresh air, and vitamins). Her family will therefore also be bursting with energy and happiness.

She has perfected the art of scheduling, such that her schedule doesn’t feel like a restrictive duty list, but rather a natural rhythm that makes impeccable sense.

Her rhythm includes enough housework each day so that clutter and dishes never get mountainous or impassable*; she also has developed a knack for making tidy-up time FUN so that the kids joyfully join in. In fact, the whole family cleans up together, singing happy working songs for motivation. At Perfect Me’s house, there are never piles of laundry large enough to suffocate a preschooler. The diapers are always out on time for pickup. The fridge never smells funky or contains ancient unrecognizable leftovers. The recycling cart never overflows, and the cats never poop on the floor two feet from the kitty box, because this family is totally on top of these things.

Even better, Perfect Me is so organized that she is more environmentally responsible: she always hangs out the laundry (weather permitting), and cycles to the grocery store.

Organization enables Perfect Me to find time each week for refreshing bouts of creativity (dancing, music, writing) and quality playtime with her children. She and her now-perfect husband remember to do fun things like take their kids skating and have picnics, and also have time for each other. (They even go on dates. Regularly.)

perfect picnic
The picnics will look almost like this – perhaps more endearingly mismatched. (Photo credit.)

Perfect Me has no trouble keeping her patience and treating the world with kindness because she’s terrifically healthy and balanced. Also, she’s so organized that she’s always able to make sure that her kids’ meals and bedtimes are consistent, so everyone gets lots of sleep and her kids whine way less than regular kids (which is what they are at the moment). Even when her children have cranky times, her mind is so clear that she is able to glean instantaneously what is needed (snuggles, tough love, body break, what-have-you) and deliver it with equanimity. She doesn’t find herself saying bitchy things and then immediately fretting about the example she’s set and the damage she might have done.

Perfect Me always has wet-wipes and great snacks on hand. And she always knows where her phone and keys are.

All this synergy gives Perfect Me the confidence and clarity to be more socially graceful. Her Christmas cards arrive before Christmas. Although her house isn’t magazine-neat, it’s tidy enough that people can drop by and she’s not embarrassed to invite them in. She always remembers to introduce people to each other and offer beverages. She makes a remarkably great cup of coffee. She converses and never worries that she might’ve just said something doofus-y.

When Perfect Me goes back to work after maternity leave, she will have such good practice at creating seamless schedules that she will be able to get the kids to the babysitter on time with nary a meltdown (not even on her part). She will magically find time to fit all the above-mentioned awesomeness into her days with lighthearted serenity, and even take on volunteer opportunities to give back to her community.

In case it sounds like Perfect Me will be smug and obnoxious, don’t worry. She’ll still be able to kick back and eat chips and watch movies sometimes. She will still be able to laugh at the mistakes she’ll make (charming things like forgetting to put the teabag in – not upsetting things like forgetting to send a thank-you card or swearing at her baby). Her meals will taste great but won’t necessarily be Pinterest-worthy. Her garden will probably never be breathtaking, although she will be able to keep invasive maples from cracking the foundation of her house. She will never be en vogue with the latest fashion trends, but she will have good hair. (You know, because of all the sleep and vitamins.)

If the journey of a thousand miles starts with a single step, I guess it makes sense to start by getting the laundry out of the dryer. It might even get folded today or tomorrow.

I feel more Perfect already.

we can do it
It’s gonna happen. Perfect Me is coming, y’all.

***

*Let’s be realistic: Perfect Me probably has a dishwasher. And a garage.

***


 

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24 thoughts on “I can hardly wait to be perfect.

    • dilovelyadmin says:

      lola, someday when we’re both perfect, let’s meet up at the market and sip fresh-squeezed orange juice as our children romp together (with no whining).

  1. OK, 4 things:
    1) when you get there, may i please be an acolyte? (i can hardly wait, too, Rosie)
    2) your perfect picnic has a plate of something that looks suspiciously like meat (just sayin’)
    3) i love your mistakes! (charming things like forgetting to put the teabag in – not upsetting things like forgetting to send a thank-you card or swearing at her baby)
    4) good luck, o dear optimist! i love you!

    p.s you’re actually close enough; don’t sweat it!

    • dilovelyadmin says:

      1) acolyte as in follower, or as in assistant? because I bet I could get there sooner if you want to be my assistant!
      2) It’s grilled… um… yucca? Or tofurkey maybe.
      3) It’s hard to think of a mistake that’s actually charming, I find.
      4) Thank you! I love you too!
      5) We’d like to have you Aunties over. I still have an iPod for you, if you need it!

    • dilovelyadmin says:

      Aww. Thank you, Krista. <3 (And she probably IS a drag, for now, until I get there and spice her up. Ha ha.)

  2. Well, I guess it had to happen sooner or later. We had hoped to inform you (and, wouldn’t you just know it? your siblings) in a less public setting. Be that howsomever it maydoo, here is the shocking truth: You and all your siblings were deliberately genetically engineered, by Yerma and me, to have a number of irreversible imperfections. It Was For Your Own Good. It Hurt Us More Than It Did You. Time Will Heal The Wounds. Someday You’ll Thank Us. Etc.

    • dilovelyadmin says:

      Okay. Which ones are irreversible? Lateness? Forgetfulness? Dorkiness? Don’t tell me all of them…

  3. Rachel McQuail says:

    Oh Diana, I see myself in so much of this, in that desire to be ‘perfect’ and ‘perfectly put together’! So it’s good to know that we can be imperfect together…

    And I just have to add to me that my perfect-me would not have STICKY FLOORS all the time! grrr….

    • dilovelyadmin says:

      Rachel, thank you for saying that! Because I do tend to think of you as one of the most “together” people I know. Just goes to show.

      And OMG, DEFINITELY with the STICKY FLOORS. Make that CRUSTY floors, in my case.

  4. Helen says:

    The Friend speaks my mind (except I don’t have kids, so my Perfect Me should be easier to attain, and yet, somehow, it’s not). Maybe this is what the meaning of life is–striving for perfection and never able to attain it.

    • dilovelyadmin says:

      Emily would totally agree with you. Kids or no kids (and I know I felt this way before I had kids too) – life is still crazy. You must be right about the meaning of life.

  5. Beverley says:

    Love this post! Why do we as women, set ourselves up for perfection. How about “good enough”. As a mother and grandmother, I know all about wanting things a certain way…..and perfection is never going to happen!!! Time to let go and enjoy the wonder of our families….and try to survive it all!

    • dilovelyadmin says:

      Beverley, you’re right. My sister Emily and I were talking about it and she said we’re like Nietzsche’s Knight of Faith (which she had to explain to me) – we know it’s never going to happen, but the hoping is worthwhile in itself, somehow. Definitely, the wonder/survival balancing act is at the crux of it!

  6. Mama says:

    Oh, wow – this describes perfectly the way I was as the mother of several young children! And by “this” I mean the imperfect mum unerringly implied underneath all your wishes and dreams. It’s life! I just finished “Carry On, Warrior” and agree with Glennon all the time too. You just go on loving – your kids, your husband, yourself, and all the people who help and hinder your perfection. And Auntie CL, the bits that look like meat at the picnic are just in case someone who is not a vegetarian turns up at the picnic and can thereby be warmly welcomed and made to feel at home. Right?

    • dilovelyadmin says:

      You had FOUR kids – way more license for imperfection. 😉 At least we know that really fun childhoods are born out of imperfection all the time. Glad you found the book relatable – I loved it (as I suspected I would).

    • dilovelyadmin says:

      Wow! It’s good to know that you also forget things once in a while (at least under certain circumstances :D). I think of you as one of those people who’s so organized that your life must be virtually seamless…

  7. emerge says:

    I just now read this! But I hope you never become perfect. Then I would have to take you down. Which Perfect Me could easily do since she does Pilates every day. But then I guess if I were Perfect Me then it would become irrelevant. So we could just be toned and glowing with vitality together. As your Perfect Children laugh over their spilt milk.

    • dilovelyadmin says:

      You’d probably use some kind of Buffyesque super-flexible roundhouse kick. But of course I’d respond in kind, we’d have an epic combat scene and come out of it unruffled and agree to be friends.

  8. emerge says:

    p.s. this post is totally a soulmate of the 12 Ways to Perfect Happiness post thing.

    p.p.s The Knight of Faith is Kierkegaard :).

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