I am not a Pinterest mom.

I want to be – desperately. But for the life of me, I just cannot get it together over here.

I wish I could be Betty Crocker, whipping up scrumptious confections with my Kitchenaid mixer – you know, the fancy expensive one. Yeah, that thing has become a counter ornament whose biggest claim to fame will be how much dust it collects before I find the time to clean it off.

I wish I made birthday cakes and cupcakes for my kids. I long to see their little faces light up as they delight in seeing what their mother has created with her own two hands. Instead, I call the bakery. It's better than anything I could ever muster, and by the time I factor in the time and energy it would cost me –take my money, cake lady!! Take. It. All. I'm too tired to even think of all the ways I would ruin their special day.

I wish I could impress people with my interior decorating skills. I'm 29 years old and my bed looks like every 20 year old boys bed – mismatched sheets and pillowcases. Juice spills, vomit, you name it – I'm not trying to make things match at 3 a.m. when nature comes calling them and I'm forced to strip my bed, still in a semi-sleep coma.

My dining room table is currently covered with what I like to call "Grandma's tablecloth". Those sharpie marks and indentations from playing drums with tiny spoons on top of it are hidden by a $4.99 wipeable tablecloth I scored at Big Lots. It's more precious to me these days than my handbag collection. That tablecloth is my hero.

I'm embarassed to tell you the last time I vacuumed. There could be an entire village of Who's from Whoville embedded in the carpet and I honestly wouldn't care as long as they promised to stay quiet during my TV time.

I wish I could find the time to help them make little handprint crafts, or homemade slime. But then I think of the marker spots already staining my furniture, and the slime I had to cut out of my carpet the other day and I think – nope, not happening. No way, José!

I wish I threw Pinterest birthday parties, with invitations I created and cutesy little food labels like "seaweed dip" instead of just telling everyone it's spinach and artichoke. Or "Marshall's fire hose" as opposed to calling it what it really is – disgusting Twizzlers no one will eat from the candy table.

I wish my husband came home from a long day at work to gourmet meals and homemade apple pies. Instead it's leftover spaghetti from the night before and Sara Lee's finest frozen pie. Does it make it better that I put ice cream on top? I always forget to buy whipped cream.

I wish I took better care of our health. More fresh fruits and vegetables, less refined sugars and food dyes. More grilled chicken, less chicken nuggets. More water, less sweet tea. One day we will get there, – or so I keep telling myself.

I wish society could stop being so hard on me.

I wish I could stop being so hard on myself.

I wish more people offered a helping hand instead of a judgemental word.

I wish we lifted each other up instead of putting each other down.

I wish that everytime you started to doubt yourself, you remembered these words:

You. Are. Enough.

Those babies are lucky to have you, Mama. Keep loving them the best way you know how. We're all just doing the best we can here.

And who knows – maybe someday you will get the chance to be a Pinterest grandma. By then, maybe you will have a renewed sense of patience and will have caught up on all of those lost years of sleep.

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