Lately, I’ve been doing a lot of reflecting. I’ve been looking back at my life thus far, and also, I have been trying to figure out what I do with all my time in the present. I can come up with only one word to describe my thoughts and visions: mediocrity.

My parents always made me out to be this smart kid. I think it was one of those things, where if they said it enough, that’s what I would become. In one of the loads of crap that my mother dumped on me to “save”, I found my old report cards. What the hell? I was a B student. Most of the time. Yeah, there were some As in there, but not as many as I thought I’d find. This pattern dates way back to kindergarten where As and Bs were replaced with E for exemplary or S for satisfactory. And that’s what I was. Satisfactory.

Then I took a trip down memory lane to reminisce about my friendships. And I was a good friend. But I wasn’t a great friend. I often made choices that served myself, or my goal for popularity (the superficial kind, not the real kind) that really made me the kind of person I wouldn’t want to be friends with forever. For a short time, maybe, but not forever. Instead of putting my heart into these relationships, I just did a good job.

When I became a teacher, I started out with full force, and I continued on with that hunger to do my best for a long time. But the babies came. And then the new evaluations. And the new curriculum. Every.Single.Year. I got tired of making fantastic lesson plans when they’d be obsolete by the time I was ready to implement them. I got tired of the changing rules and to be honest, when I got home from work, I didn’t want to sit down and figure it all out. I wanted to pay attention to my kid. No longer did I want to be the best; I was ok with being an effective teacher.

So we made my dreams come true, and I was able to be a stay at home mom. I had it all planned out. I was going to have activities! There would be enrichment! Playdates at the Clark house would rock. My kids were going to be cultured and well behaved and generous and kind. But the reality is that most days, I’m staying afloat. It’s all I can do to not scream and cry in frustration. If Harrison needs me, Ella needs me more. If I make heart shaped sandwiches, they want pancakes instead. If I DO plan an activity, somebody falls asleep before we leave the house. In all my efforts, I am simply just hanging on.

Don’t get me started on being a housewife. Yes, I make the bed every day. And the laundry gets done. But I don’t cook. And if I do, the smoke alarm perks up and goes on full alert. Even if I sweep several times a day (which I do), my floors have little pieces of cheese and smears of peanut butter on them. My windows have tiny fingerprints and tongue prints. Yes, my kids lick the windows. Often, when Justin gets home, I’m sitting in the midst of legos and stuffed animals. I’m in yoga pants and my makeup drawer hasn’t been opened for a month. I’m in survival mode.

I’ve decided to publish this because I think some other people might feel the same way about their lives. And you’re not alone. I also wanted to share this: I woke up yesterday morning with a promise to myself-I was going to change. Not myself, I’m not changing myself. I’m going to change my view of myself. Every moment I question my worth or my efforts, I’m just going to give it a little more. I am good the way I am, but I want to be great. I don’t want to look back another 30 years from now and think about my regrets. I can’t do it all perfect, all of the time. But I’m promising myself I’m going to do better.

Author: livefromtimeout

When I'm not refereeing my two children, I like to workout and drink wine. But not at the same time. Teaching happens to be my vocation and my passion.

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