Candidly speaking...

I found my daughter sitting out on the roof one afternoon earlier this week.  "It's comfortable!  And not a bit slippery!", she tried to convince me.  I suppose I should be happy she discovered the roof after nine whole years and not a moment sooner, right? 

We finally set up the trampoline the great-grandparents helped purchase for Christmas.  Yes, Christmas, as in, almost five months ago.  I haven't seen my children since.  Except for the time I peeked out the window to find all of them running single file on the pad outside the enclosure.  Is it so hard to be conventional?

Gone are the Saturdays when I felt the need to ensure that fun, games and outings filled the moments not occupied by doing chores.  We find ourselves leaving the weekends largely unplanned and letting the kids have at it.   A new concept for me - I've always been one for excitement and adventure... or at least one family outing.  Yesterday they bounced to their hearts' content with nary an argument.  I could get used to that.

I concocted a delicious Texas Sheet Cake Friday afternoon and fed it to the missionaries.  What else was I to do with a half cup of buttermilk?  I didn't get a single bite until Saturday...after my migraine (one of the three I can count on every single month at very predictable, hormonal times).  I could do with a little less estrogen in my life.

Why the random assortment of happenings?  Because I attended a Relief Society activity on Tuesday that, among other things, reminded me of how dangerous it can be to measure oneself against what others portray on their blogs or other social media.   So I'm just trying to get real.

Life is full of the mundane.  I learned to live with that early in my marriage and it has saved my mental health.  I remember being in college and returning home every summer to "report", so to speak, the latest and greatest.  I often felt inferior when I had fewer dates than my roommates, or fewer accolades to add to my resume, or fewer adventures to boast of on the weekends. 

When I married Tim, instead of traveling across the country to accept my post-graduation dream job, I had to hunker down at a temp job in Provo, biding my time until he graduated two years later.  I had a well-meaning friend at the time, who reminded me that I was too bright to relegate myself to working a lame job and making dinner every night for my husband, I could be conquering the world.  I was glad I had the gospel to ground me, to remind me that some periods in life involve a bit of drudgery.  That one doesn't need to be making headlines to be happy. 

As a mother, I've learned not to measure myself by what I didn't check off my list but what I did (much of which was not on the list in the first place).   Sure, there are days I can prance around and pat myself on the back for baking 6 loaves of bread, volunteering in each of my kids' classes, teaching Joy School, doing 5 loads of laundry, teaching my kids piano, ensuring they don't watch a moment of TV or eat a bite of sugar all while maintaining a relatively clean home (I don't even aspire for immaculate, let's be real).  But most days I'm just pleased as punch that I managed to get dinner on the table.  I can't always measure my success in ways that the world recognizes.  But I can feel content in my efforts to do what is right.  And in this season of my life, that is being a mother.  In the best way that I know how.