I’ve been blog skimming and deep reading killing a bit of time this morning before Amelia and I head out on errands a day full of errands and activities that pull me away from the piles of laundry waiting patiently on my bed and the casserole dish in the sink and the floor sticky from this morning’s cereal rejection.
Everyone seems to be writing about perfectionism today. And these are people, who, from my vantage point of the other side of the net, seem to be pretty perfect.
Tara makes those wonderful family rules signs but admits she struggles with contentment in a house that doesn’t feel like home. Been there, my friends.
Rachel is super-mom to six kids but writes boldly about how she’s let perfectionist tendencies rob her of those precious moments in which she finds joy. Don’t I know all about that.
And then there’s Ann Voskamp documenting her trip to Ecuador by telling about the beautiful scarf her six-year-old daughter knit for their sponsored child and I know, beyond a doubt, that perfect things don’t matter as long as what’s given is wrapped in love.
But isn’t it hard? We look at pinterest and facebook and bloggers who seem to have it all together. Moms who are handmaking gifts and coordinating elaborately themed parties and using burlap for way more than it was ever intended. But are they perfect? Surely not. Surely no one is.
Perhaps the measure of our perfection is in the eyes of our children. When we stop cleaning to play with them. When I stay on the couch half-asleep instead of in my bed because Annabelle wants to sit in my lap to finish the Friday night movie. When I leave the dishes and the laundry and the sticky floors for one more day so we can go for a walk or to soccer practice or to play with our friends.
I’ve felt so imperfect lately. Did you know my house was actually cleaner before I started staying home? And we certainly had more money so I didn’t have to ration the cheese for pizza night so we’d have enough left for lasagna. But the other day our children’s minister told me that she’s noticed a change in my girls since I started staying home. They just seem….happier.
So maybe I’m not perfect. But my kids are happy.