Hypocrite and okay with it

I feel accomplished and good at my job if I successfully cook an actual meal for dinner. I also take pride in the fact that we are not one of those families that demands a homecooked meal every evening and we’re happy with it. I defend my choice to order Chinese carry out just as fiercely as I do the time I dedicated to time to the chicken and sausage gumbo that I planned and shopped for and started cooking at 1:05pm and didn’t finish until 6:42pm.

I like to cook. But only sometimes. And only if I haven’t recently cooked. And only if I’m not expected to, and if I want to. And only if my kids aren’t pulling on my pant legs or asking for yogurt for the 17th time.

So, I like to cook. Cooking is good. And important! Healthy food and saving money and domesticity for the win.

But ordering dinner from someone else’s kitchen is also good. And also important! And eating grilled cheese sandwiches is also good. And important! Laziness and acceptance and balance and less dishes for the win.

I read an interview recently about compartmentalizing ourselves and how we are wired to fit ourselves and others into neat little boxes. (I’m so sorry, brilliant woman whose interview I read, that my mommy brain ate the knowledge of who you were or how to get in touch with you.)

Our instinct is to see black or white. I’m pretty sure grey is greatest.

It’s beautiful, all of these roles we play. All of these interests we have.

We proclaim one thing but know within our hearts that we are that thing plus it’s opposite, often in the same day, and we love that about ourselves.

I care about the environment. I worry about the health of our planet, especially in relation to my children’s future. I recycle everything I possibly can. We use chemicals on our lawn. I go through a ridiculous number of baggies on any given weekday.

I use my fuel saver card at the grocery store, and will drive out of my way to fill up for a few cents cheaper. I buy expensive jeans, and books at an actual bookstore that cost 20% more than they would online.

I hate Walmart. I shop there anyway. I loathe Hobby Lobby corporate. I shop there anyway. I really love supporting local coffee merchants. I order a Starbucks cappucino at least once a week.

It’s easier to identify someone else if we can fit them into neat comparments. And easier on ourselves, too. But who really fits into compartments? Robots, that’s who. Not humans. Not working loving cooking driving laughing playing hiring writing happy anxious mothers.

I like to cook. But only sometimes.

I kinda like grey. I kinda like being okay with liking grey.

Hugs,
AS

Tagged as: motherhood, musings, womanhood