Never going to be Martha Stewart...and pretty much okay with that!

I accepted awhile ago that I'd relinquished any Martha Stewart-like comparisons. First of all, I can't sew. Although, I wish I could, aside from fleeting and moderate jealousy when I see posts about fancy curtains or cute homemade pillows acquaintances have made, I've never put out the serious effort to learn. So that one's on me. I taught myself to crochet last year, but I've yet to complete anything bigger than a dinky and practically unusable potholder. My house is not immaculate, as my sisters will readily attest to. Neat for a family of six, but not eat-off-the-floor ready-for-spur-of-the-moment-entertaining clean. Translation, there's a lot of dust and toys laying around. I don't garden. My husband wants to create an elaborate flower, vegetable and fruit garden in our back yard, complete with landscaping, butterfly bushes and benches. I've already told him not to count on my weed-pulling skills. I do think I'm a pretty good cook, and I'll happily prepare and/or cook any vegetables or fruits that come out of this garden, when it materializes. But I'd just as easily make a crock pot turkey with applesauce on the side than roast leg of whatever with parsley potatoes that Julia Child would be proud of, and my kids would thank me for it! Maybe that's just the kind of mediocrity you accept when you have four children aged five and under. And while I won't win any awards, some days I still start to think I'm doing pretty well! I washed, folded and put away four loads of laundry today, and I'm 34 weeks pregnant with number five! My husband and I even got our 19-month-old to sleep in his new big boy bed for the first time today after only 30 minutes of fussing and messing around. If you had seen the cartoon blurb over my head, you would have seen me starting to pat myself on the back with congratulations of "Super Mom." Then, God, in all his wisdom, saw fit to humble me with reality. The spice cake that I was so proud of myself for squeezing into the afternoon actually only got made because my husband, snowed in from work, graciously proceeded to follow the recipe laid out on the counter, since I was detained every two minutes putting out fires and answering questions for children in other areas of the house. I was only in the kitchen long enough to scour the cupboards and line the ingredients up on the counter. So much for being super woman. And then, after the first taste, without so much as a word, I could read in the faces of my family members that they'd be just fine with regular old chocolate cake from now on. Experimenting with cuisine is, apparently, not always recommended! Oh, and my Kindergartner, of whom I was so proud for working semi-diligently on his snow day activity packet from school, proceeded to have a meltdown after yet another reminder to get back to work, and so he lost the privilege of playing out in the snow. That went over like a lead balloon. So, I'm back to reality. MY reality. The one in which I have four very busy children, who are all precious blessings, but who also wear me out by the day's end and constantly leave me feeling befuddled. The reality in which I am very thankful for a thoughtful husband who is always willing to help and never flinches when I place hot dogs on the table instead of steak. So I'm off to the kitchen, and while Martha would also spend lots of time there, she might be appalled by the dirty dishes in my sink, the chicken nuggets in the oven and the macaroni and cheese (from a box!) on the stove top. Some might call me Super Mom, simply for keeping four kids fed and safe from bodily harm, but I know the truth. I know that God is providing for me and my family in ways that I see and in ways I will never see, every single day, even in moments of exasperation. I know that my husband will probably wash all those dirty dishes for me, and I love that about him! And I know that I'll never be Martha Stewart, even though someday I'd like to sew, crochet and cook more gourmet than Stouffers. However, after the kids are in bed tonight, I will put up my puffy pregnant feet on my bed, now covered with the new memory foam mattress cover and fantastic RED sateen sheets my husband bought me, and I'll fancy that, though I can't BE Martha, I'll be sleeping like her, and I'm pretty much okay with that. I'm a happy woman.