An imperfect life.

I am a wannabe perfectionist.  I like the idea of doing everything perfectly.  I like order.  I like things to be exactly correct all of the time.

I find that I am often obsessing about how to pull myself more completely together.  How I should be better.  How I should actually stick to those lists I love to make.

In reality, I am shamefully imperfect.  I try.  And try.  And try.  And fail.

Then I feel discouraged and sad.

I really ought to be better.  But, I'm not.

I should admit here that I find the post "Messy house, but we have love, laughter, life" - thoroughly annoying.  I know that's' not exactly how it goes, but you get the drift.   I like a clean house with love, laughter, life.

I have two children.  I am a stay at home mom.  This is very feasible.  Yet, I've found that very often I am pushing my children away so I can clean.  I'm working so tirelessly at something that really doesn't matter that much.

I know it's not perfect, but I've let my house go.  My husband is amazing, he simply smiles and tells me it looks like a lot of life has been lived in our home.  And it has.

We live.  Sometimes it's perfectly clean, but usually there is a line of toys from one room to another.  There is a stack of books that need to be mended and there is always laundry.

I am not perfect.

I'm not even a perfect mom.  Sometimes I get frustrated.  I have found it's easier to react than teach.  I try very hard to teach.  Sometimes I react.

When I go out, I look like a mom.  There are moments I look like a woman, but mostly it's just this mom look that hangs like a shroud.

I probably would have been mortified when I was 14 or even 21 to know that this is what I would grow in to.

I should probably be mortified to admit to you that I like me.

I like my imperfection and my messy house.  I like my kids with watermelon dripping down their chins and running to give me hugs when they're dripping wet and I'm not.

I want to be perfect.  I'm not.

I guess I'm embracing my imperfections.  Enjoying the moments of my life that grab and shake and rattle me, until I can't breathe, then collapse in the aftermath.

This is not a giving up.  Rather it's the freedom to fully enjoy this masterpiece of a life.

I don't like failures.  I would rather be imperfect than worry about failing.

My perfect little ship has sailed.  It was never really mine to begin with, just the illusion others used to whisper in my ear.  But, they are long gone and now it's the dawning of a life lived with handprints on the window.

Cause really.   Who got time for that?!

Lounging.

Do you ever notice that it takes you a little while to settle back to life after being away from home?  

I definitely don't fall right back into rhythm.  

I lounge around, with half emptied suitcases, a rug that needs to be vacuumed, beds that need to be made, but the dishes, those will be clean.  

If we didn't constantly travel, this may not be so annoying.  Considering that on average we're out of town 2 weekends a month, I am feeling a little lazy.  

I don't usually have a lot of room or grace for laziness.  It drives me crazy and stresses me out.  I'm not typically someone  who can nap, because my brain doesn't shut off.  

Yet, in the last year that we've lived here and the demands on my time have dwindled, to, well, none.  I find I indulge a little in lying on the couch with tasks that are waiting to be accomplished.  

It's interesting how committed we become to the things that drive us.  The need to perform.  Our concern with how we're perceived.  

Then, overtime, we find it being worn away. 

I don't really want to be lazy.  I don't want to lounge.  

I want to be demanded and busy.  I want to list my accomplishments.

That's just not where we are right now.  We're resting.  I think we're growing.  

I'm learning that when nothing's going my way and my triumph for the day is making dinner, I'm still okay.

In fact right here, where we are.  We're good.  We're blessed.  We're filled with joy.

May your day be as well.