Nobody is Perfect

Not even you.
Yes, you.

You may have your children in the most coveted Montessori school in town.  You may feed them Annie’s organic cheddar bunnies instead of those red-40 laden Cheez-Its.  You may rinse them after swimming because skin is, after all, the largest organ.  You may keep them from sleepovers with questionable families, from public restrooms, from rated PG-13 movies for the potty humor, from food preservatives, and from Internet predators.

But, you are not perfect.

You can watch the children out the window each and every moment they are out in the yard and you can listen in to their phone conversations and you can wash their clothes with seven rinses and you can run a Hepa filter in your home and you can avoid antibacterial products and you can refuse vaccines and you can hand brush their teeth with non-fluoride toothpaste and you can remove sharp objects from their rooms and you can sit in their Sunday School class to make sure they aren’t being taught heresy and you can screen the babysitters.

You can hold an MBA or a Jurist Doctorate or attend night classes to improve your mind and you can do yoga five to six times a week and you can drink nasty green whole food type drinks and you can wear a wide brim in the sun and slather your hinterparts with 75 SPF sunscreen and you can marry Mr. Right and you can rise early and you can cook from scratch.

But you still aren’t perfect.

The problem is, you want to be perfect.  I do, too.
That’s why we feel guilty at night.  And around three in the afternoon.  And just before dinner.
Do you like feeling guilty?

Me neither.

So give it up.   Not the trying part, just the perfect part.  Nobody even likes perfect.  Just ask Barbie.