Be the best ringleader

My life looks nothing like my Instagram feed. When I scroll through pictures I see gorgeous peonies perfectly placed in vases in beautiful white living rooms with fluffy pillows.
As we work on staging our home to sell I'm trying to channel my inner Pinterest girl and get similar looks with perfectly placed vases and pillows.
Then my child comes in with a sticky spoon and Nutella covered hands and her bow is around her neck and where are her pants and please stop pulling the dog's hair!
I turn on “The Greatest Showman,” the newest distraction, and as Barnum sings about coming to the other side because it's the greatest ride, I'm wondering how I can get dried Nutella out of blonde curls without causing tears.

I'm the ringleader to my own circus now.

Watching The Greatest Showman from her "seat"

Every single night I put each piece of my home back in place before throwing all of the clutter and crafts into a box, and then shove that box into a closet.
I fluff pillows and Clorox wipe counters. I pick up every single block from the floor because perfect Pinterest moms do not have blocks in their floors.

I've completed all of my tasks and checked off my to do list somewhere between midnight and 2 a.m. and at this point I've watched “The Greatest Showman” three more times.
Then, as I place my still dirty hair head on my should-be-ironed-pillow, my baby cries. I try to ignore it. I mute the monitor and watch the blinking lights go from green to red to green to red as her wailing crescendos into a sound that should be coming from one of P.T. Barnum's circus animals rather than my tiny daughter.

I climb back out of bed careful not to put anything out of place, go to her Pinterest perfect room where she has pushed the wall so hard the crib is now several feet from its original spot and her blanket is lying in the floor, discarded in a fit of rage from being left alone in her nursery.
I take a deep breath and try to calm her.

Once I realize the only calming thing is my arms I take her to my room where she finds that perfect spot that a parent seems to develop after their first child is born.
It's that warm spot from your elbow to your shoulder where babies just seem to fit perfectly and no harm can happen to anyone.

She's snoring before I have an opportunity to give her back her pacifier and push play on her movie.
In the morning the alarm shouts way too early and that little snorer is up and once again dancing to the musical talents of Zac Efron before I have a chance to take my first sip of coffee.
By the time I have shoes on, she has scattered more blocks, more dolls, several coat hangers, her Minnie Mouse vacuum, and someone's fuzzy toothbrush.

My house, no longer looks like Pinterest, Instagram, or even a crumpled Wal-Mart ad in the trash bin.
My house looks like the Warren Family lives here.

I got frustrated, and slightly overwhelmed. I raised my voice when I probably should not have.
But as I put the blocks back into the tiny bin, rushing because I knew there was a diaper to change and a dog to be crated before I ran out the door, a pudgy little hand dropped a red block into the basket.

She then looked at me, barely able to talk and exclaimed, "yay!"

Then she clapped. For me.

My house may not always look like Pinterest and Instagram and my follower count might have dropped by 150 people in the last month, but this morning I got applause from the smallest and most important fan I have.

So if your house is covered in blocks, crayons, or even toilet paper because somehow she found that too, just remember to take a bow in the middle of the circus. Because you're the best ringleader they will ever see. And right now, this is the greatest show.

This column originally ran in the Bolivar Commercial