For years after I started homeschooling, I would start the summer with grand plans for activities, workbooks, and reading assignments to make sure my kids didn’t go brain dead over the vacation.

We did a page here and there, but the school year would start again and I’d find I hadn’t done much of anything I’d hoped to do.

Several years ago, I gave myself permission to stop making plans for summer learning. The kids needed a break, but more truthfully, I was the one who needed a break from having to oversee all the learning.

This summer has been tough again. I’m finding myself fighting guilt about not doing more with the kids.  I’m not reading to them. The Littles can’t read to themselves. No one is doing math review. The Bigs aren’t reading the leftover reading books we didn’t get to from the school year.

I’m still trying to figure out how to be good at being married. As it turns out, that process is a lot less straight forward than I would like.

The harder I try to keep it together on the outside, I have a patch of eczema that’s like, “LALALA YOU CAN’T PRETEND YOU AREN’T STRESSED WHEN I’M HERE!!! And the more you pretend it’s ok when it’s not, the bigger I get!”

Today, I met the Chaplain at our riverside trail with the Littles after dropping Two and Three off at the dance studio. It was a long day with the kids. I felt like I had tried really hard all day and had still failed.

Starting way back at 11 a.m., I had made dinner for lunch since we would be out at dinner time. I’d fed the kids sandwiches before leaving for the evening. I’d brought water bottles and snacks so no one would be hungry. I started getting ready to leave the house long before we had to go so that we could actually leave on time.

The whole day, I had worked up to this moment, at the trail. All the kids had shoes on. We were ready. But I hadn’t had a chance to pee before leaving our house and there were no bathrooms at the trail.

I was tense, and angry that of all the things I took care of before leaving – vacuuming, laundry, food prep, clean up, I hadn’t managed to take care of ME.

We started down the trail. I was eyeing the bushes in a way I haven’t done since my college running days, looking for a spot to dip in and take care of business. The Chaplain knew my plight and suggested a little trail off the main one a ways further along. My instinct was saying this was a bad idea, but I didn’t have a better one, so I went along with it.

When we got to the well-trod side trail off the main paved path, I grabbed a wet wipe and a plastic bag from my supplies and ran off down the little trail. When I got to my mark, a big tree not far from the river, and ran around behind it, I looked up as I was taking care of business and saw a yoga mat not far away in the undergrowth.

My alarms were going off big time. Someone must live back here! I thought, and finished as quickly as I could before sprinting back to the main trail.

It truly is amazing how much better I felt after that one small thing, but I was a little put out that I hadn’t taken a smaller, less used trail rather than risk getting caught on the one I ended up going down.

The rest of the walk was uneventful. The weather was amazing. It was warm, with a cool breeze, and the sun was shining through the trees.

We walked for close to an hour and a half before getting back to our cars. The Chaplain headed back the short distance to the dance studio to pick up the girls, while I went straight home to put the four Littles to bed.

Of course, after such a long walk, they were all hungry, despite eating before AND after the walk. By the time they had been fed again and gotten ready for bed, 40 long minutes of hustling had taken place. I had all but forgotten about the trail.

I lay down on the sofa after the last one, Six, was mostly in bed (he usually comes down 4-5 times after he’s been tucked in and could use a good Super Nanny, but I just can’t right now), and I watched a home improvement show. I didn’t want to move, even to go to bed.

When I finally came upstairs, I was close to tears and feeling like I’d failed. I’d forgotten that the kids had had so much fun playing outside this afternoon that they hadn’t asked for screen time. I’d forgotten they’d played with clay in the morning. I’d forgotten that three of them had been walking around all day with headphones listening to the new plug-and-play audio books our library now carries. I’d forgotten that I folded 4-5 baskets worth of laundry and had gotten the kids to unload most of it. I’d even dried some of it outside on the line. We’d ended it with a family walk at the trail. I had not been caught peeing behind a tree.

When I look back at it in print, none of that sounds like a failure. But the ending, and parts of the middle, were so bad that it was hard to get past. It’s really easy to start focusing on the really bad parts and letting them set the tone for what you remember about a day.

Laying in bed, trying to do my nightly box breathing, I remembered I hadn’t put the food away downstairs – food I was trying to prepare ahead of time for a camping trip we’re doing next week. I’d run out of time, and it was sitting on the stove, unfinished, and not put away. Two fails in one, if you will.

When I came back upstairs after putting it away, I should have been laying here, relaxed after a successful day. Most of the house is clean. My kids are sleeping soundly after a busy day. And I was up here beating myself up over the ways I’d disappointed myself.

Let’s be clear – I will NEVER live up to my expectations. They are far too grand. But some days, it’s harder than others to talk myself down from those peacock hopes to my sparrow reality. I’m more self-aware, but I don’t think I’ve gotten a whole lot better at the intersection of reality check and self compassion. I tend to stand there, confused, feeling defeated and unhappy. Little thoughts will tuck into the corners of my brain, reminding me of things that went right, and ways the other things never could have gone the way I’d hoped, even if nothing went wrong.

But I’m still left fighting feelings of inadequacy. I know what happens when I fight my feelings. They don’t go away. And if I manage to stuff them enough, eczema is there to remind me of how I really feel.

I want to wrap this up with a happy ending. But really, I’m just sitting here, writing way past my bedtime, trying not to pick the eczema.

In keeping with trying to be OK with imperfection, this post doesn’t get a feature photo.