Marry Martha Stewart?

I know that I have perfectionist tendencies. There. I admit it. If I'm going to do something, I want to do it well.

Martha Stewart is not helping my condition. Thanks to Martha, I've learned how to make a bed. I mean, how to REALLY make a bed with all the pretty layers showing. I make sandwiches for Ainsley in the shapes of butterflies and flowers. I make ice cubes with raspberries suspended in them because they're pretty. I straighten and re-straighten everything. Love is in the details.

However, I'm really no Martha Stewart. I don't garden, sew or raise chickens. I'm not a crafty person and you won't find me scrapbooking. I have great ideas but not enough talent or time to follow through on them.

When I do complete a project, it inevitably gets damaged. Dear Darling is a bull in a china closet and then there is Hurricane Ainsley. Apply fresh paint to the walls and within three days, they will be scuffed. The hardwood floors are covered with milk spots and crayon marks. One night, Dear Darling tossed the beautifully shammed pillows onto the floor and threw my perfectly neat world into disarray. I exclaimed "I don't know if I want to be Martha Stewart or marry her!" In Marthaland, pillows never touch the floor.

Being Martha Stewart would require a lot of effort and unrealistic expectations of my family. So why not just marry her and get the benefits? Fresh eggs for breakfast, ironed socks, organic vegetables from the garden, nightly dinner parties with pressed napkins folded into swans and homemade keepsakes capturing our family's tender moments all sound like good things to me. Wouldn't it be divine to have my cake and eat it, too?

I believe it's the scuff marks that make memories and I wouldn't erase a single one. My family isn't perfect but I have the perfect family. Besides, I'm pretty sure Martha would drive me crazy and I know she would push Dear Darling over the edge. I think I'll keep my nice little life as it is, scuff marks and all.