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| 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.
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