One would think after two marriages and five children a woman would know she is a grown up. But for me not so much. It is like I grew up and became responsible for so many people and things so fast that someone forgot to clue my psyche in on the fact.

Maybe my failure is the never-ending desire to be perfect. HA! What would that look like anyhow?  Every time I try I fail. Not that the failures have stopped me from trying to achieve this unobtainable concept of perfection.  You don’t exactly exude perfection with two failed marriages. Sigh.  My Donna Reed days were taken from me well over fourteen years ago.  Yet I keep trying to make everything look like those picture perfect black and white television shows. Delusional is probably a good word for what I’ve been trying to achieve.

I sit alone in this room trying to convince myself that life is not passing me by at a rapid rate and it may be high time I figure out this adult thing After all, at thirty something I am expected to be one.  My brain just doesn’t seem to notice that twenty years have gone by. We (my brain and I)  are no longer seventeen, we are the mother who knows nothing, is unfair, and just doesn’t seem to understand. We  are the ones setting expectations, making rules, and handing out consequences.  Somewhere along the way we went from being the kid to raising them and we aren’t even sure how it happened.