Imperfect

For all of you out there who think I am perfect, I am not. I do have bad days and I do want to sell my children at various times during the day. Like today for instance after I put Rachel in her second-time in five minutes for throwing a tantrum for not getting her way. It's been a day of drama.

But back to my not being perfect. I pride myself on looking good. I like to present a good appearance. I am a detail person and I pay attention to every minute part of my overall presentation. And no, this doesn't take time, it just takes being organized and anal, both of which I am.

So imagine my horror as my husband and I are walking into the temple last night when he turns to me and says "I hate to tell you this, but you have two different shoes on." What? No way! Those things only happens to other people, right? Nope. I could blame it on the fact that I can't see my feet as well as I used to, despite people who keep telling me how tiny I am. I could blame it on my kids who are always rummaging through my shoes and moving them around. Or I could blame it on being lazy and not checking my shoes. At least they were both white. You'd think I'd notice since there is a slight difference in the heel height. Oh well. Thank goodness we were going to the temple and I would be changing out of my shoes. But I did go out to eat afterwards with my mismatching shoes.

This is just another example that I am not perfect, that I do know how to laugh at myself, and that with each child I lose more and more brain cells. I am on number four and I am doomed! Doomed I tell you!