The Art of Imperfection

photo credit: Hearts in Bloom Photography

I can’t tell you where it came from.  I certainly didn’t grown up in it or being asked for it; as an adult I most definitely do not embody it.  Deep down, I truly don’t expect it from the people I love.  And yet, it is ever present, looming over my shoulders any time I am doing something:  the quest for perfection. 

Obviously, I would like to be good at the things I do; proficiency is always a desirable trait.  But, somewhere along the line, between being a child that liked things to go her way and the adult I am now- constantly orchestrating things to ensure they do- I have become a perfectionist to the point of problematic. I’m not saying that it is obsessive in nature, and I think with a background in psychology and a professional that works with students that have true diagnosed conditions I can say that with some degree of certainty. But, I say this as a mama that was in full-blown hysterics, panic and saying all of the bad words: I am a perfectionist. Here is the thing though-it’s not everywhere.  I will leave my clothes hanging over the back of my desk chair until my darling husband passive aggressively heaps then onto my side of the bed.  I am not the most amazing housekeeper, and most days I’m okay with that.  Parties. That is my downfall.  Now you may say, ‘Okay? So don’t have a party...’ and it makes perfect sense.  Except I love it.  I love the planning, the preparation-all of it.  This is, until that day.  And on that day, I am an entirely different beast.  A beast looking for perfection and for everything to be executed in the exact manner I cooked up in my jumbled brain.  

Two weekends ago, was Kennedy’s birthday party.  The month of May kicked our collective asses and it was the only weekend we had to spare.  We planned (I; I planned-poor Sean and our bank account-just got dragged along for the “enjoyment”) a carnival.  Kennedy was pumped.  I was pumped. Except for that anxiety that was building that it would rain and I had nowhere to put the twenty-some-odd children and their parents that were expected.  But I had everything under control.  I prepped things and decorations weeks before, leaving only what I had to for that morning.  

My sister had her beautiful new baby boy the day before and I desperately wanted to squeeze in a visit.  And though, still even after having my own healthy boy and good delivery experience-it kills me going into a hospital and to the labor and delivery floor-it was worth it.  This little peanut, Owen Edward, is already so loved.  And his big (some bigger than others) cousins could have eaten him up.

I woke up early to see the morning showers-they will clear! everyone kept saying.  So I hand-snipped about 400 mini marshmallows to make the cutest damn popcorn cupcakes you ever did see, I mixed up a circus trail mix, fluffed the tissue paper pompoms-just in time for the rain to really get going.  And then I lost it.  The store had no more hydrangea left and the closer grocery store has no white carnations but a further one did and so I sent Sean after yelling about needing help, because of course a six year olds birthday party needs center pieces. My dad and brother came over to try and set up a tent, while the party company came to drop off the bounce house and games and cotton candy machine. Still it was raining, and oh wait the wind was kicking up too and so the tent wouldn’t stay up and the deck was a slippery nightmare.  I was a sweating, crying, badly behaved mother-loving-lunatic.  And the bottom line is I was ruining it for Kennedy a little more each time I yelled, “We should have just cancelled this!” Finally it was too late, people were arriving, just as the sun was coming out, hot as anything.  Most of the decorations-really freaking adorable ones too-never made it out or couldn’t withstand the gorgeous breeze that blew all of the dark clouds away. And you know what?  It didn’t matter.  Any of it.  My baby girl was smiling and having fun with her friends.  

photo credit: Hearts in Bloom Photography

photo credit: Hearts in Bloom Photography

photo credit: Hearts in Bloom Photography

photo credit: Hearts in Bloom Photography

photo credit: Hearts in Bloom Photography

photo credit: Hearts in Bloom Photography

photo credit: Hearts in Bloom Photography

photo credit: Hearts in Bloom Photography

photo credit: Hearts in Bloom Photography

photo credit: Hearts in Bloom Photography

photo credit: Hearts in Bloom Photography

photo credit: Hearts in Bloom Photography

photo credit: Hearts in Bloom Photography

photo credit: Hearts in Bloom Photography

photo credit: Hearts in Bloom Photography

photo credit: Hearts in Bloom Photography

photo credit: Hearts in Bloom Photography

photo credit: Hearts in Bloom Photography

photo credit: Hearts in Bloom Photography

As each person said, “this is so great” I hated myself a little more.  It was great, even without it being “perfect”.  I think the problem is I feel like I owe Kennedy a perfect birthday.  Three years ago I was too sad to put any effort forth, and last year I was too pregnant and tired to try.  And this girl, this sassy little fireball who loved me at my worst and lowest days, deserves so much more than that.  But I know, she expects none of this, it is only my own guilt I am trying to quell each year; a guilt that I have to learn to ignore, or at least stifle. Who knows?  Maybe when she turns twenty-one I’ll be past it.  I know she loved it and that is the only thing that should have mattered.

photo credit: Hearts in Bloom Photography

After the chaos of the party subsided, it brought us to two glorious weekends “off”.  We spent Memorial Day weekend home and with family and friends and this past weekend meeting our good friends, Sean’s childhood buddy’s, beautiful new baby girl and visiting Owen and his family.  It was all perfect in its own imperfect way.  

Because that’s just it; life is pieced together by all of the imperfect moments that, when we take a moment to look back-look pretty damn perfect in hindsight.  This constant need to chase perfection will always leave me feeling that I come up short. No one is looking for perfection from me, I am not looking for it from anyone else.  I have realized at the age of thirty-two, almost thirty-three, I still have so much left to learn; but for now I will work of mastering the art of imperfection.  

Recharging the Battery

This week was about me trying of recharge, emotionally.  Before I tell you why I needed to recharge, in case you aren’t in the mood to read all of my words or to possibly ugly cry, I will cut to the chase and tell you it didn’t happen.  I’m still spent and I’m headed into more chaos this weekend, but I digress.  

Sean and I, and our poor (mostly cooperative) children have been on a non-stop ride this month.  The fact that we are in the homestretch of May already blows my mind, yet here we are.  

My cousin got married on Cinco de Mayo on Long Island and it was all of the things.  A day filled with incredible small moments (I want to remember my baby girl putting makeup on my grandma as we were getting her ready until I draw my last breath), an enormous amount of love (there is literally nothing better than watching the groom see his girl walking down the aisle), a tremendous act of generosity and more fun than my aching feet could stand.  Needless to say it was a long car ride back up state.

My sweet girl turned SIX on the tenth and, you want to talk ugly crying?!  After being up late, cutting up about 10lbs of fruit for a fruit salad because “Mama, I want fruit salad for my birthday treat in school but not the kind they make at the grocery store-just the stuff I like” and munchkins don’t cut it for my girl, Facebook mercilessly provided me with a video of her newly-two-year-old self singing, “happy birthday to me,” and I was done.  It is all going too fast; so fast it sometimes takes my breath away.  Her birthday was kind of a rush deal, birthday waffles before school, cupcakes and a few gifts after and then back to school to show off her year’s work to her adoring audience of three.  

The weekend brought us to my little brother’s college graduation. It really, truly was a celebration. This boy committed to earning his bachelors degree and taught us all what grit looks like.  Six years later, a man held his head high and walked across the stage to receive is diploma, and then the little boy peeked through for a moment as he raised both of his hands overhead in celebratory fashion.  I couldn’t have been more proud of him. There was an undeniable stress I could feel building beneath the surface but I tried to force it from my mind.  We went to a nearby casino for a nice dinner and some fun and we really did enjoy ourselves; so much so that I almost forgot what the next day was.  Almost.

I went to bed with a hope in my heart that this year would feel different but from the moment I opened my eyes I knew that it wasn’t so. My heart felt heavy, like I couldn’t get myself going.  I tried to force myself to finish the weekend on a positive note but Mother’s Day is just a tough day for me.  I didn’t want it to feel that way this year.  I have an amazing girl that, though she is challenging and fiery, is becoming such a wonderful little human. I have a beautiful baby boy to hold in my arms and he has made my life so bright, brought a smile back to my face and I don’t know what words to use in order to best explain how grateful I am for him. But all of that does not change the fact that it doesn’t feel like enough; and that makes me feel guilty and unappreciative and so incredibly sad.  One of my children is gone, and on Mother’s Day I feel that so much more acutely. All I wanted to do was go to the cemetery and be with my boy.  I just wanted to have all of my kids together.  And so we went and Kennedy talked to Jack and told him, “Uncle Dyl is done with college!” and Carter sat in the grass and this beautiful man I am so lucky to still have by my side, asked if I wanted a picture with the kids. And he said it so effortlessly that it didn’t feel strange, and it was everything I needed.  I wanted this year to be different, and it was, but what I really want to feel different, I suspect never will.  It will always hurt that Jack is gone, especially on Mother’s Day.

So this week has flown by and dragged on at the same time.  I started it emotionally drained and I am ending it feeling like I have nothing left in my tank.  Something I was really hoping for didn’t work out and it really hit me hard.  I am feeling like I am going to have to let some of this emotion out sooner rather than later but there just isn’t any time.  There is a momentum propelling me forward and it is really the only thing getting me through this weekend.  Next up on the docket is Kennedy’s carnival birthday party and a quick work trip to Boston.

It’ll be next week before I can blink. And so as I said about four thousand words ago, I need to recharge.  Maybe next week?

A quick side note:  I sat with Carter in bed last night and he was “talking” and playing and all of the sudden he looked quickly over at the pictures of Jack on the wall in my room and he smiled a great, big, gummy smile.  I had all of the feels and all of the goose bumps.  I don’t know if it means anything but I’d like to think it does.