Dear Perfect Mom:
Unlike me, you don't have cheerios ground into your carpet (or any other unidentifiable crunchy objects), your children are so clean they sparkle, you wear pearls, and your timing is just right so that you are setting dinner on the table from the oven at the same exact moment that your husband's car is pulling in the driveway.
Unlike me, your children never get hurt, there is never a toy on the floor, the windows are all washed and the beds are all made. There is never a basket of unfolded clothes anywhere in your house, and never a dirty dish in your sink.
Unlike me, nothing ever goes missing (ex: cups, keys, cell phones, socks... children), your children are never screaming, never say no, and never throw toys. They go to bed on time, and you always have breakfast on the table waiting for them when they wake up.
Unlike me, you somehow raise each and every one of them so perfectly that you even have time to do your make up, paint your nails, and read a book that doesn't have pictures in it before packing them each up for a trip to the grocery store where not one of them asks for anything (or sit screaming and pointing to the Gerber Puffs even after they can't see them anymore) or even makes a peep. They all smile at strangers, and are as polite as anyone could ever be.
Unlike me, you are the perfect mother. You may be reading this right now, or maybe you don't exist. Either way, I'm perfectly happy being a not-so-perfect mother.
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