Fancy schmancy.

For as long as I can remember, I have been a control freak. Clear as day I remember walking with the teachers assistant into a special room down the hall from my kindergarten class. I was given instructions to stamp my name under my clay handprint (which my mother still has), one letter at a time with metal letter stamps. Each letter sunk into the clay at different depths and they are not all in a straight line. It bothered me so much that I asked if I could re-do it on a fresh sheet of clay. The teachers assistant said it was fine. To this day, it still bothers me when I look at that clay plaque hanging in my moms sewing room. It's not perfect. It could be better. Now, fast forward 23 years later and I am still the same control freak that likes everything to be perfect and beautiful. Certain aspects of my life could be better, different, more perfect. My house could be cleaner. I could be more organized. I could stay on top of Claire's laundry. I could have that home-cooked meal on the table every night as my husband walks through the door. I could look more put together and less like the sleep-deprived, disheveled new mama that I am. I could actually print photos living in my camera. I could do everything asked of me. Those things are what I strive for but rarely what I achieve. Post-baby, I have become more laxxed on what is soimportant. I crawl into bed at night thinking...there goes another day, it is what it is. I used to put so much pressure on myself to keep it all together all the time, never letting anyone see me fail. Now, I acknowledge my failures, I clean the stagnant items off my full plate and I move forward with the understanding that life never turns out as planned. But somehow in the midst of all my stressing over where my life was headed and how long it would take to get from A to B, I am right where I want to be. Messy floors, laundry, baby puke, take-out food and all. Fancy that.