I remember so many times when the kids were little, and Curt and I would find ourselves comparing our family ‘insides’ to other people’s ‘outsides.’ It always happened when we were in the midst of some parental frustration. One of our crew would do something ridiculous [normal] that kids do, causing us to wonder why our kids couldn’t just be perfect like the little darlings that belonged to other parents. We knew that other parents had perfect kids because many of them told us—at every opportunity.

I admire people with perfect children, honestly, I do. They’re out there, and I know this because I see them on social media every time I log in.  We all see them, don’t we?  Perfect families with perfect parents and perfect children.   Social media would never lie, right?  And, in my mind, their perfection magnifies my imperfection.  I wasn’t a perfect child, nor was I a perfect teenager, and I’ll never be a perfect parent.  But I try.  And I fail.  I say the wrong things, I do the wrong things, and then I start all over again the next day convinced that I will do better.  I try.  And I fail.  I fail because I, like those objects of my social media envy, will never be perfect—no matter how much we try.