You know what I feel super mediocre about? Gimmicky school stuff. It feels like every single week we get a new fundraising appeal. The heart smart thing. Book fairs. Bring a ream of paper to school (no kidding). Selling wrapping paper and other crappy monogrammed items nobody wants to buy. Well, actually I did get a monogrammed bag but that’s only because I really needed something to organize all my notecards and thank-you notes that I send to people for donating $5 every other week to my kids’ schools. Kid1 gets so worked up about the prizes. I mean, I dig the prizes we get from donating to NPR, mainly because I have a vintage canvas bag collection that will fund my retirement when I sell them all. But it’s honestly not worth the temper tantrums over the forgettable prizes that seem oh so very important that particular day. The sloth slap wrist bracelet. The keychain that has some kind of app that I’m supposed to download so it will dance or come to life? I don’t get it. As a kid I had to sell school spices, which I never did. And the school survived because the district passed bonds. And selling cookies was my least favorite thing about the Girl Scouts. I am big on no-pressure sales. I always tell salespeople I don’t need any help in stores, because I don’t need any help.

If I were an exemplary parent I’d patent an all-purple cutlery and dinnerware set because that would solve 87% of the fights at our house.

Once a month I crash hard. Like can’t keep my eyes open fall asleep standing up mid-sentence talking mid-blog-post-writing…💤

You know who gets it? It’s like they know us. I feel seen.

I’m great at road trips and travel. I love finding cool places to stay, cool places to eat, and fun things to do and visit. On or off the beaten path. It was a lovely, joyful quick road trip with just the kids and me.

Only, I don’t know who. We got an invitation to a double birthday party only I can’t find it. But I remember where and when it is because it’s right down the street and conflicts with something else we’re scheduled to do. So I buy two nondescript presents, without names, and bring them to the party where everyone looks vaguely familiar. The ladies look all J. Crew and the dudes look all Orvis but maybe they look familiar because I just recognize them from the catalogues. Anyway, I ask 4.5 who the birthday girls are and she shrugs and says she wants to color. It occurs to me we might have gotten this invitation in error, but I do recognize ONE person who happens to be a good friend, but I’m too embarrassed to admit I have no idea what we’re doing there. I texted some friends who told me to just wait until they sang Happy Birthday but I had to leave to go pick up 6. Overall I call it a win. I didn’t have to call anyone by name, the mystery birthday children each got gifts, and my kid had fun and ate cupcakes.

Perfect is the enemy of good. Don’t try to be perfect. Be good. Be really good at being mediocre. Mediocre people can shake off the judgment about the gap between what could be and what is. Happiness is simplicity.