Loving Your Imperfect Life

One of my very favorite past times is walking around quaint neighborhoods with my husband and daydream about the pretty houses that we pass. This was something we did often while we dated, and one time I even went as far as ringing a dear old lady's doorbell at 9 o'clock at night to tell her that I just loved her house. It was a dare that my husband didn't think I would do [can you tell how wild and rebellious we were?] and while I may have terrified the sweet woman, it's a funny memory that we still joke about today.

There's this one street in particular that I drive down on my way to and from work. The houses are all very large with massive, beautiful windows. Many have wide front porches and early in the mornings, the soft glow of lamplight shines through. I envision moms in their soft plush bathrobes cooking breakfast, dads drinking their coffee and their kids plopping down joyfully at the large kitchen table next to them. Maybe it's warm French-toast, topped with decadent cool-whip and covered with fresh, juicy strawberries. I bet the kids don't bicker, and they all quietly chatter about their day ahead. Lunches packed, kisses exchanged, everyone probably leaves feeling so carefree and positive.

Ever since I was a kid, I have enjoyed walking past homes and studying everything about them. The types of windows, the large wooden doors, yard or no yard, one story or two--what is everyone doing behind these beautiful walls and is their lives as perfect as their residence? Fun Fact: I grew up in the country and I have this very random memory of being obsessed with binoculars. I had a tiny notebook I would take outside along with them and I'd plop down on our trampoline. Well, considering the closest neighbor to the back of us was my Grandma, who was still an acre away, it's obvious that I didn't ever SEE much. I don't think it lasted very long (duh, how BORING?!) but I'd jot down, "Nothing going on at Grandma's today," or, "Aunt Dawn and Uncle Time aren't home from work yet, not much happening" (they also lived across the field.) I suppose this means I'm a born people watcher and because I never had too many people to WATCH, city life has kind of amazed me!

The truth is, just like you can't see behind my four walls, I can't see into yours. The small frames on Instagram don't even give a sliver of reality for what the first five minutes of our mornings look like, let alone sound like. The beautiful photo of my kids hugging lasted for three seconds and shortly after they were snapping at each other for something completely irrational. My office space in our dining room is just about the only consistently tidy nook that we have, and that's because it's used once or twice a day. The truth is, I despise mornings and because of that, waking up with a joyful and positive heart is always a battle for me. When the kids wake us before they're supposed to, internally I'm usually spewing and huffing and puffing. I'm easily overwhelmed, in both my classroom and home, and it's very hard for me to just 'go with the flow.' Yesterday my daughter, while she was supposed to be dumping the mini potty bowl in to the big toilet, (something I thought she could handle), instead smeared said potty bowl remnants all over the toilet and floor. I do NOT even know how this happened, nor do I really want to, but that was a good fifteen minutes of my reality. (#momlife?)

Does cleaning up poop sound like perfection?

Obviously not, but I want to take a second and focus on that word, perfect:

having no mistakes or flaws;
completely correct or accurate;
having all the qualities you want in that person, situation, etc.

Our inner critic is one who tells us that we don't have it good enough. We aren't pretty enough, smart enough, wealthy enough, or just enough--period. Your kids are better than mine because they're more spaced out; surely they don't fight, and oh yes, they're the best of friends. Your house is better than mine. It's bigger, the yard is better, you keep it cleaner, it smells better, it IS better. But what if we stopped for a second when we begin to hear these nagging lies? What if we thought about what it is our hearts are coveting and then look our life straight in the face with confidence about where we are and what we DO have? Instead of thinking, "My daughter should have been able to dump her poop into the big potty without any incidence," I could have just acknowledged it for what it was: "Maybe I should have moved MY butt and taken the bowl from her, maybe I was just being lazy."

That's kind of a trivial example. But I think we all have these expectations for ourselves, our spouses, our kids, our friends and co-workers--and what really, is the point? My 4-year old isn't the same as yours. You and I could have the same exact degree but we probably teach completely differently. My convictions are different from yours. And honestly, our visions, dreams, hopes and goals are vastly diverse, no matter how similar we may feel to one another!

I didn't enjoy cleaning the bathroom, but I'm thankful for a daughter who tried to be independent. I can't stand it when they fight, but I'm grateful my kids have each other. Sometimes my husband and I argue, but I love the heck out of him and I'm glad God chose ME to be his wife. I'm homesick often, but how thankful I am for a reliable vehicle and that six hours just really isn't THAT far when I want to go visit. My job is incredibly hard and as a teacher I don't ever get to "leave work at work," but I'm thankful to meet so many diverse children and no matter what, be changed by them. We feel we've outgrown our house, but it's where we brought our babies home and where ALL of our memories exist--I'll forever cherish the years spent there.

I could go on. But I know that you too are thinking of ways you ARE grateful for the imperfections in your life. And truth be told, I don't actually think everyone else's lives are more perfect than mine; I don't despise our house or neighborhood or my close in age children. But I am guilty of comparison and I encourage you today to stand against it WITH me. Together as a people we are so blessed, poopy toilets and messes and all.

"Understanding the difference between healthy striving and perfectionism is critical to laying down the shield and picking up your life. Research shows that perfectionism hampers success. In fact, it's often the path to depression, anxiety, addiction, and life paralysis.” -Brené Brown, The Gifts of Imperfection

Perfectly Imperfect

The smell of warm bread drifted through our cozy hundred year old home the entire day. Kentucky finally had its' first snow, at least in our region, and the snowflakes softly fell. We were all staying warm, wearing comfy clothes and me in my fuzzy socks. All Sunday afternoon, I read the recipe 100 times, watched the yeast rise and fall, molded the dough into a ball and finally- finally, it was done. 

Doesn't it look beautiful? Like it would taste delicious, fresh and hot from the oven?

It wasn't. At all. It was a baking project that took me several long hours, one that required so much patience, and it had our taste buds anticipating the first bite ALL day long. I grabbed a large chunk with my eager fingers and as soon as it was in my mouth I exclaimed, "Oh NO! Yuck, no, NO!" My husband tried to be sweet about it- "Oh let's wait a while longer and see what happens (as if it would change). Maybe it'll become more dense and taste more like.... bread." It didn't.

Isn't this kind of like life? We plan for things and wish for certain events to happen. We work hard and pray for a beautiful result and then--it's nothing at all like we hoped for. My husband and I plan rigorously to provide healthy, well rounded meals for our family. Sitting around the table with one another to talk about our day is something that of course, is ideal. But after long work days, it is more of a reality that Frozen is playing for the umpteenth time and chicken nuggets is the glorious meal being served.

Perfectly imperfect. When I think that painting with two toddlers is a good idea and five seconds later am pulling my hair out at the red and blue sloshing all over the table. But they made their own masterpiece and cheered each other on the entire time.

Or the suggestion for them to get creative using Play-doh and moments later I am scraping the bits and pieces out of the cracks in our ancient floors. But their little fingers worked so hard and I watched their glowing faces each time they made another snake, or horse or human.

 I can even relate this to my current teaching career: I plan what I expect to be a freeking awesome lesson; surely the boys (I have eight), will all be engaged and thrilled to discuss the inspiring explorers Lewis and Clark. Right?! OR they'll instead get caught up on the fact that Sacajawea had a baby at seventeen ("It's not even possible to have a baby at seventeen, that's way too young," says one. "Well that was back in the day, like a LONG time ago, so it used to happen but it can't anymore," another replies). Okay sooooooooo not what I thought would be ten minutes spent in Social Studies. BUT, it did lead us to an awesome conversation about how brave and strong the female Native American was who helped Lewis and Clark reach the Pacific Ocean. The boys were awed by her courage and strength as she braved mountains and crossed waterways, all with a baby on her back. Not how I expected the lesson to go, but it turned out better.

God gifted me with the art of photography and I was blessed to discover it several years ago. But just because I am talented at snapping a good quality photo, does not mean that our life is all sunshine and roses. From the moment our kids were born, I made a very conscious decision to post what I post. I personally don't think crying photos of them are cute, that's a preference. There are a lot of other things that I would rather document. And when I spent all day making my first attempt at homemade bread, I took a lot of time and effort to take the photos that I did. When we took our first bite out of this very pretty loaf, I felt myself frown, my chest tighten up and for a second I thought, "What a waste."

The truth is, it wasn't a waste at all. Pies may be more up my alley but I've always wanted to try baking bread. Everyone says it is such hard work (PREACH!), like an art in itself; and although I longed for it to be a delicious masterpiece, the end result was a big loaf of perfect imperfections. The old floors in our house creak, 90% of the time there are toddlers running, screaming, arguing and laughing. Favorite movies are played on repeat, the corners are crowded with an abundance of toys and some days, despite how hard you try, how well you plan, you have to accept that your life is a masterpiece.