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.  

Growing Pains

I can remember crying as a little kid that my legs hurt and my parents simply saying, “Those are just growing pains-they’ll go away soon.  They just mean your growing up.”  I’m learning that there are growing pains in raising children too-for them, for us.  Maybe pains is sort of an understatement too, maybe agony is more accurate at certain points.   Over the past five years there have been points where Kennedy and I have to find our way out of the thick of things, and I’m reminded of that every now and then with the new guy.  But it’s the little lady that brings the heat these days...in a big way.

Kennedy and I are on the struggle bus...and we seem to be stuck in bad traffic, unable to move forward much.  Actually, to be real honest, it’s more like grid lock...on a hot summer day.  It’s rough, man.  I find myself looking at her and praying that the little girl that she was the first four solid years of life is still in there somewhere and that she just may be taking a backseat to the girl that seems to be trying to find herself in a take-no-prisoners sort of way.

I swallowed a hearty dose of mama guilt the other night when I was talking with a friend of mine and, after she asked me how things were going with two kids in the house, and I said, “Well it’s really just tough in the mornings and the late afternoon and evenings,” that I realized what I was really saying.  I felt awful that was describing all of the times that Kennedy is in the house.  But it’s true.  Getting her ready for school is a battle-getting her up, picking out her clothes, asking her to eat breakfast, choosing a lunch that she will actually eat, when to go out to the bus-all of it turns into a battle.  Why, you may ask, am I engaging in an argument with a five year old?  Because I am desperately trying to make sure I am doing a good job raising her to be kind, and respectful.  I don’t ever want to snuff out the fire that burns within this girl, but I know that we have to be careful that it does not become an inferno that could cause destruction in this world.

Another awful moment came when I realized somewhere along the way I’ve become a “No” mom. Not in a ‘no, don’t do that you can get hurt’ kind of way but a ‘no, not now’ or ‘no, because I said so’ in a response to a little kid that may really not understand why.  I’ve never wanted to be that person-and not because I think children shouldn’t hear no-but because sometimes it’s in the “yes” that the magic happens; and so with all of the no that passes through my lips at this beautiful girl- for no other reason than that I’m tired or cranky or just plain lazy- I’m missing the magic.  I realized it was happening this past weekend at a birthday party we went to for a friends little girl.  For starters, I left Kennedy home with Sean because I knew that would be easier than nagging her to calm down and behave around all of the babies and little kids. Then as I was changing Carter’s diaper, another friend’s toddler was picking stuffed toys off a shelf and tossing them into the crib. My friend, she laughed along with her and asked her questions about the animals and just reminded her she’d have to put them all back shortly; and my heart ached.  Because I knew, without a doubt in my mind, that I would be telling Kennedy no, and to stop it.  And why? No one was getting hurt; nothing was getting broken.  I found myself asking ‘what am I doing?’

So the next morning I decided I would take her out for a girls day, leave the baby home with Sean, and just enjoy my girl.  We decided to go and see ‘Wonder’, her first grownup girl movie.  She wanted to bring my mom too, so we picked her up and off we went.  As soon as we entered the mall where the theatre is she spotted a bounce house area they’ve newly added and I braced myself for the begging and whining.  It didn’t come but she made sure to point it out.  We found our seats and got our snacks, and almost began the movie without incident-until she got annoyed at me and pulled at my arm and knocked the eight-dollar bag of popcorn off my lap and spilled half of it on the floor.  I just about lost my mind, and then, because even at thirty-two I can act like a petulant child, I thanked her for ruining a nice time with her bad attitude (I wonder where she’s learned it).  She pouted for a few minutes and then apologized to me. 

The movie was beautiful, though it tore me apart in a hundred different ways- making me think of Jack and what our life may have been like with him, how it would have effected Kennedy, and more than that how losing him did effect her.  And I cried.  I cried as I thought of all of the ways this little girl’s life has been changed for the last three years.  First we tell her she is going to have a baby brother, then tell her he is going to be special and things will look a little different for him, then we leave for the hospital and come back with no baby.  Not only do we not bring her brother home but I came home a different version of her mama-one that cried a lot and smiled a lot less and that she tried so hard to make happy.  One that many days could do little more than turn the television on and feed her.  She waited for me-to heal, get my act together again; she waited patiently.  And then after all that we go and tell her she’s going to have a brother again.  And so she apprehensively gets excited and we turn her little world upside down again, this time bringing home a baby that takes up a lot of our time and therefore a lot of her time with us.  And still the fire burns.  All of that and her spirit has not been broken-not by life- and so I’ll be damned if it’s broken by me. 

You see, as I watched my little girl bounce around, and slide, and laugh at the bounce park after the movie, my heart broke a little.  How could I be so impatient with her as she is growing, testing, and feeling things out?  She has taken me at my absolute worst and loved me fiercely through it.  If she, at her young age, was able to do that, then I will do the same for her.  I will do my best to say yes a little more, take in some of the magic, let the fire burn brightly and wait out the growing pains. 

This year I don’t have to try to hard to find things to be thankful for.  I am thankful for my family, my friends, my husband, and my beautiful children here with us and the little one that watches over us from above; I am thankful for this beautiful life that has continued to pull me forward even when I fight against it.  I am thankful for all of you.  Thank you for following along with me on this journey of grief, and healing, ups and downs, failures and wins. 

Happy Thanksgiving.