My first confession.

Actually, I lied. I’m not a control freak.  Not a fully fledged one. I try, every day, to join the ranks of elite control freakery but I would fail to pass the first hurdle (indeed, if I was an accredited control freak I would rarely encounter hurdles, of course, because I would have factored them in, been prepared, and have Plan B, C and D up my very tidy sleeve). Some days I bed down on the sofa, let the kids watch CBeebies and beat myself up with thoughts of perfection. Most days, I have a craving for some control, I yearn to be serene and calm to be like THEM, those elusive women who have it all.  But instead I have feelings that change by the minute, I succumb to temptations and whims, I have regular periods of indecision and, horror of horrors, times of inactivity and unproductiveness. I also have times of hopelessness and dejection, when my usually positive outlook becomes dark and all encompassing.   But I’m misrepresenting myself yet again.  I don’t want to be a woman who ‘has it all’, because I don’t particularly like the idea of what ‘all’ is.  Do I want to be constantly juggling, rushing, compromising, delegating, and living other people’s priorities. No thanks. So I don’t want to have it all. I just want to have my own perfect little life, with my perfect family and my perfect friends, and maybe some perfect home business on the side, and perhaps some perfect volunteer work with teenagers thrown in for good measure.  See, that’s not too much to ask is it?