, , , , ,

(I don’t even play one on TV.)

I have a funny relationship w/Pinterest (not so much funny-haha as funny-weird). Anyone who follows me there might get the impression my family enjoys lots and LOTS of delicious food, I’m a fabulous hostess, my house is well-organized and super-cute, and I’m quite fashionable.


Uhm, NO. 😛

Today ended up being another “fend for yourself” day re: feeding my fam; I still have random boxes and piles of *STUFF that I don’t really have anywhere to put away from when we moved into our home (7 mos ago!  >.<  *I seriously need to start selling or donating some of this stuff because at this point I’m not sure it will ever—while the universe exists—have that “a place for everything, and everything in its place” place); and I’m still schlepping around the house in my bathrobe while I’ve worked on church assignments and other commitments all day (fortunately none of them require in-person interactions, which would of course necessitate actually getting dressed in real clothes; I’m off the hook for today). It’s not pretty, but it’s real. And no, my life doesn’t always look like a train wreck, but there are a statistically significant number of days that do… :\

But train wreck aside, Pinterest is a source of inspiration for me, even though I’m not always able to bridge the gap between inspiration and action—sometimes I just can’t afford to bridge that gap, sometimes I’m too tired or frankly just too lazy, sometimes I lack motivation or I’m just flat-out depressed, sometimes I get derailed by things that have to be a higher priority. But my (frequent) lack of action doesn’t mean I don’t want to seek out inspiration for better days! 😉 🙂

So why don’t I get all bent out of shape about “Pinterest mums”? You know: the ones who always seem to throw A-MA-ZING parties for even the smallest occasion (“Jenny lost her first tooth! Let’s have a backyard carnival complete with acrobats and homemade ice cream!”), the ones whose homes look like a Pottery Barn spread (where are the kids? more specifically where’s the MESS??), the ones who make super-healthy-but-somehow-tasty meals and snacks for their kids (“oh look, another recipe for spicy tofu and wheatgrass burgers, yum!”), the ones who are teaching their elementary school-age kids Plato and trigonometry in their dedicated and perfectly kitted-out homeschool classrooms, the ones who (according to an oddly large number of conversations I’m seeing lately) we’re all apparently supposed to be competing with…? “Those” mums?

Because I don’t know enough to care. (But I do know enough to make ridiculously OTT, snarky little comments, because sometimes hyperbole is amusing.)

I don’t know why they use Pinterest. I don’t know what makes them happy or what’s best for their families. I don’t know what their family even looks like (married w/kids? divorced/single mum? extended family living w/them?), where they live, what their priorities are, what their lifestyle is—nothing. And they know pretty much the same about me.

Sure, there might be a few “rotten apples” in the barrel who just want attention, but honestly I think for the most part even “Pinterest mums” just use Pinterest for themselves—to share (and expand) their interests, their ideas, their inspiration.

Why should I care that what inspires them and makes them happy isn’t the same as what inspires me and makes me happy? Does it somehow diminish me that they like—and exuberantly DO—different things than I do? Or even that they do the same things, but differently? Nope.

It’s okay that we all like different stuff. It’s okay that we all DO different stuff. It’s okay that we all have different talents, skills, priorities, resources, and motivations. Admiring what another mum does doesn’t mean I have to rush out and try to BE that other mum. I don’t go to the opera and leave afterward feeling like I have to go sign up for voice lessons; I don’t visit a museum and feel a sudden urge to borrow the entire Bob Ross collection from the library; and I don’t watch an episode of “Chopped” and beat myself up over my inability to make a delicious, visually appealing appetizer from baby spinach, tuna, soba noodles, and gummy bears. When I find myself getting het up over what some “Pinterest mum” has posted, I step away from the computer and go find chocolate, because my envy and rising anxiety says more about my state of mind than it does about anyone else’s. (And we all know chocolate cures a multitude of ills. Even “Pinterest envy,” haha.) We can admire and celebrate other mums—including “Pinterest mums”—and still go be awesome ourselves.

Some women are “Pinterest mums”; some are not. I fall pretty squarely in the “not” camp (although that statement is hotly contested by Johnny Lingo, who thinks Pinterest rules my kitchen and is still determined not to like it, even after second helpings); I have several friends who are classic examples of “Pinterest mums” in one way or another, and it’s no skin off my nose that they’re just doing their thing.

TO EACH HER OWN. That’s all, the end.