Instagram - The Highlight Reel

"Comparison is the thief of joy." -Theodore Roosevelt

I believe it.
"Don't compare your behind the scenes to everyone else is highlight reel."
It's good advice.

I'm not sure where credit is due because I've read it on countless letter boards across Instagram and Pinterest now.

My Highlight Reel

And disclaimer - this isn't to address blatant lies, photoshopping or fake accounts.
Just your average highlight reel - such as my Instagram account - And why I wouldn't have it any other way.

There's nothing fake about all the good moments.

The date nights, the delicious meals, the moment - just long enough to capture with a photo, the kids, both clean and well behaved. Post it.
The times you got out of yoga pants and put on a cute outfit or the times you wore yoga pants and actually went to yoga! Share.
That one night, you're winged eyeliner was on point should be commemorated; celebrated. It's not easy! The highlight reel is not a bad thing if we recognize it for what it is.
Comparing ourselves to others and what they want us to see and perceive is the problem. Instead when the real life or "behind the scenes moments" are getting you down look back at your own highlight reel. I often refer back to my posts. I'll scroll through months of good times to remind myself that it's not always so difficult and there are beautiful moments even in the day to day.

When my kids are on my last nerve I'll see the tiny weeds ... errr, flowers ... they give me by the handfuls.
When I don't want to go to Zumba because it's at such an inconvenient time, when I could be doing laundry or I could call it a "rest day" and stay home ... I'll scroll through and recognize all the times my unmotivated-self got up and went to the gym anyway and I'll remember how good I will feel afterward.
I'm reminded of some great, out-of-the-way place, where I had lunch one time and need to get back to.
I recognize it's been waaaay too long since I had a girls night and text my friend to set that up!
When my husband is working long hours and I'm feeling disconnected I see our date nights or the flowers he brought for no reason. I see the good times and know there will be more.

Instagram is a highlight reel but it is also real.

Real moments, the ones that make us happy.

The feel good moments easily forgotten when the tough ones come along.

Instead of letting someone else's gram bring you down let your own lift you up.

Bless The Village

And thank God for drive-thrus

I could have expected it. There was foreshadowing.

 "Does he feel warm to you? I think he's warm."

It was a rough morning. One of those that starts at 4am with a restless and feverish toddler joining you in bed. You're shuffling through the children's medicine before your eyes have a chance to adjust to the light. 

I couldn't find the syringe and he wanted no part of taking Tylenol from a spoon. So I fought with all I could muster at 4am to get something in him and salvage a couple more hours of rest.

Then the day began. 

I drove through the car line and dropped the older two off at school. A woman stood watch at the cross walk between the two lanes; directing traffic and making sure each student safely made it to the building.

Now my focus was back on the sick one and surviving. 

We drove a block away and swung through our favorite donut shop. As my tires crossed the cable I could hear the bell ding near the window. 

A familiar face greeted me, "good morning!" and soon passed a bag of donut holes into the car for the sickly boy.

This series of events landed me at Starbucks just in time to be part of the morning rush. 

I did wait an embarrassingly long time in the drive thru but I'm proud to say I was not one of the cars blocking lanes of traffic as I sat waiting for overpriced coffee and convenience. 

A cheery voice from the menu on the curb asked, "what can I get started for you today?"

"Just a tall coffee, with two pumps of sugar free vanilla and a little coconut milk." 

That's keto friendly, dairy free and under three dollars. You're welcome.

I'm overwhelmed in the midst of this chaos and inching my way towards the window for the fuel to carry on. 

Once I get there, cool and collected, the barista passes me my coffee with a big smile and a 'have a nice day.' I tell her to do the same and leave my change.

One more stop before I can head home with the kid.

  

The theme of the morning seems to be how much can I get done from the comfort of my car. 

Well, I need a syringe for future, more successful, doses of medicine assuming this fever continues. 

I'm sure they sell them and that's the proper way to go about gaining another syringe ... or maybe you're supposed to have your life in order and not lose the one that accompanies the medicine in the first place.

Anyway ... could I get one at a drive thru? It was worth a try.

I drove up to my usual CVS, humbled myself and when I was greeted, told the woman, "I'm not here for a prescription today." I pled my case and she quickly passed a 5ml syringe through the windows and wished him well with a smile.

I proceeded home, smiling and appreciating all the village had helped me accomplish and with such convenience.

What I shouldn't be doing on a Friday night

What I shouldn't be doing is watching my 3rd grader flee from his room at bedtime. Face red and tear streaked, he pleads, "Can we please move?!" 

I assume the tough, one-day-will-be-man is afraid of the monster undoubtedly residing in his closet.

I assume on a Friday night I'll be doing closet checks and tucking children in to bed for the umpteenth time.

So I'm stunned when my question to why we need to move is met with a string of nearly indecipherable words that sounded something like, "They always tell me I need plastics surgery. He asks, 'who looks better' and they never say me," he said through tears. "They say I'm ugly and need plastic surgery... that I look worse because I have freckles. They tell me everyday. Different people, they compare us everyday."

It all spilled out, in the hallway, on a Friday night. 
And every foot-dragging, week day morning; every "I hate school, I just don't like it." suddenly made more sense.

I'm sad to say I knew the day he was born we'd tackle this monster. 
When fluorescent lights above the hospital bed gleamed against his copper hair, I knew.
The summer the Texas sun drew out those freckles, I knew it was coming. 

Photo by Capturing Me Photography

Nevermind that he's handsome. 
Nevermind that he's funny, with wit, creative, helpful, an ace on the soccer field. 
Nevermind that he loves Jesus and Michael Jackson. 
He has every Pokémon memorized and will battle Beyblades until dawn if he could - he isn't unlike his peers. 
He isn't like his peers either.


And kids sadly ... many of us, sadly, don't yet realize how beautiful it is to be unique. How boring it would be if we weren't. And what a pity it is if we can't see beauty in what's been fearfully and wonderfully made.

It's by divine design that freckles cascade from the bridge of his nose along his cheeks. It's no fluke that my copper-topped boy has true blue eyes. He is literally one in a million.

Unfortunately this monster can't be taken down in a Friday night. It'll take all of us, determination, consistency and love to conquer this beast but it's one that most definitely needs slaying. It's not imaginary, it's waiting for our children everyday.

Soccer Mom-ish

Once upon a time, in my naivety, I believed I'd be the put together mom - a pencil skirt and heels - picking my kids up from school after a day in the office.

I'd be the room mom, the team mom ... the best mom.
I would have dinner on the table at 6pm. The whole family would sit down and enjoy the healthy, homemade feast as we had meaningful conversations.
My dream was to be the soccer mom.
I wished to be the homemaker.
I would dress like Jessica Day every day if it were at all practical. It's not.
If school pick up and drop off doesn't require leaving the car who would know you're still in pajamas?

But know - A day might come when your Kindergartner is stung by a bee just before the final bell and you must retrieve him from the nurses station. -- it's a different sort of walk of shame.
My husband often works late. Soccer and Little League practice pull us in different directions three nights a week. There is no convenient dinner time. When we are able to sit down at the dinner table there's much less meaningful conversations and many more bodily functions than I imagined. That's dinner with three boys still learning how to be a gentleman.
None of it is quite what I imagined and with my years and three kids I've gained a little wisdom. David Allen's quote may say it best, "You can do anything but you can't do everything."
As a domestic goddess I have to balance my many roles and importantly still, be me.

I don't want to lose myself striving to be the idyllic soccer mom stereotype.
I don't want to hurt my marriage identifying myself only as a mom. There's a balance I'm striving to find.
I'm a hard-working man's wife and a mother of three. I'm all that that entails and more.

I'm a woman learning how to give herself grace. I am finding a balance in the chaos and joy of simplifying life and relinquishing mom guilt. I'm discovering a sweet spot between Pinterest-Mom and Amazon Prime-Mom – content to be Soccer Mom-ish.