Why I'm suing Pintrest

The other day I decided to google pictures of "homework organization ideas".  Elise will be starting her journey into the public schooling arena in the fall, and rumour has it that homework starts early and often these days (I'm sure I'll be ranting about that when it happens).

Because I feel like I might spontaneously combust when things are disorganized, I decided to get a jump on it.  Little did I know that such an internet search would be extremely damaging to my Mommy Psyche.

It all started when one of the images that popped up was someone's Pintrest page.  Let me just say that I am not on Pintrest.  I'm not even quite sure I get it. But I made the error of clicking on the link.

What greeted me was photo after photo of the most incredible organization ideas.  Not only for homework, but for everything!  Your mail!  Your car! Spice jars! Box tops! Toe nail clippings!

You name it, it can be organized.

Not only that, but it can be designed to match the decor of your room.  Match your magenta sofa!  Make the purple in your painting pop! Who knew that I was doing such a disservice to myself by not caring about these things?

Even worse, all of these pictures looked like no living soul had ever ventured into that living space ever.  Do people really live like that?

As I delved deeper into this soul-sucker known as Pintrest, there were other, more disturbing circles of hell; food, clothing, children's rooms, closets, woodwork, and craft after craft that would make Martha Stewart look like a clumsy 5 year old learning to use scissors.

And it dawned on me; I SUCK as a mother.

I can't make the Taj Mahal out of veggies.

I won't be able to fashion my daughter's wedding dress using kitten fur.

I lack the know-how to take a dilapidated section of fence and craft it into a designer crib for my baby.

And I just don't have the time to grow my own organic garden while caring for free-range, grain fed animals and doing it with perfectly styled hair and wearing the latest fashion trend that I naturally sewed myself.

When I take a banana, strawberry, some yogurt and an orange, the only thing I can make out of it is a smoothie.

So I have decided to sue Pintrest for pain and suffering by bringing to light my huge shortcomings as a mom.  Damn you Pintrest.  At least I'll know to blame myself when my children turn to a life of crime because I never was able to make them a pizza with toppings arranged to look like the Last Supper.

A FailMom kind of day

You know you've had a FailMom kind of day when:

It takes you THREE tries to get the oatmeal-making right this morning (OATMEAL for the love of all that's holy). Try #1 has you boiling up a pot of quinoa instead of your oatmeal. Because quinoa and steel-cut oats look exactly the same. Not in the real world, but in a world where you've only gotten three hours of sleep, they do. Try# 2 has you wandering upstairs and completely forgetting about your breakfast, thus burning the oatmeal and making the entire downstairs a total stink-fest. You finally get it right, over an hour later. Good thing the oatmeal was for you and not your kid who had already been given her insulin and needed to eat like, 50 minutes ago.

You manage to convince yourself that it is no big deal that your daughter is wearing the same top for the third day in a row, and more than that; it's okay that it's a pyjama top. And it's completely fine to take her out into public dressed like that because hey, at least you made an attempt to find matching pants. Emphasis on the word attempt.

You peek out through the shower curtain and notice your child is keeping herself busy by building the Leaning Tower of Feminine Hygiene Product Packages. You then shrug and tell yourself it's cheaper than having to buy her actual building blocks, since they serve a dual purpose.

You try to introduce your daughter to a brand new and totally fun game called, "Let's all take a Nap!" Wherein the object of the game is for you both to lie on the floor completely still and pretend to sleep . The secret object of the game is for you to actually sleep, while your child believes you are playing a fun game.

While you are making dinner, you allow your kid to pull out every pot, pan and other cooking utensil from the cupboard because you're just happy she's keeping herself occupied. You then notice with complete horror that there is blood everywhere and discover she has cut herself with the apple slicer-thingy. Not a bad cut, but a cut nonetheless. You then, being a mother of a T1 diabetic child, quickly ponder if you should use said blood to do a BG test, because hey... you need to test her in about 15 minutes anyway.

Yes, ladies and gentlemen... I am a star.