Perfectly Imperfect

I was talking in my last post about our simple days at home; about how we have anchors in the way of meals and sleep times, and everything else flows around that. On thinking about that post, I wonder if it comes across that we have somewhat of a 'perfect' daily routine. Because we don't. To be honest, our days before we discovered the rhythm and repetition that forms our structure, were much more haphazard and tended to drift more. Through a Waldorf approach, and I am still very much a learner in this area, we have brought this simple and beautiful structure to our days. But they are far, far from perfect.

There are still the times when I am tired, and the little things start to get to me. When I think I'm being patient but the limit of my patience is reached [clearly not that patient then..]. When I get frustrated at having not only a small child to tend to and the multitude of play things [who needs toys when kitchen items will suffice?] but also two little dogs under my feet, literally tripping me over. The days when the dogs are removed to the outside and the doggy door is closed. The days when I'm eating chocolate by 11am as a coping mechanism. The occasional [thankfully] day when I call my husband at work, nearly in tears and struggling to hold it together. Like when my little one got powder of washing soda in his eye. Yeah, those days.

Or the days when, for whatever reason, I just don't feel like cleaning up the mess after a meal, again. When it's beautiful outside and I want to go play in the garden, or when I'm itching to write but instead of sitting with macbook I'm scrubbing the walls and floor after lunch. Baby-led weaning is a messy business [but so very worthwhile, our 12 month old feeds himself with cutlery!], even before little one decides to turn the half-eaten bowl of food upside down, or throw the food he doesn't want overboard, or run his soup-covered hands all over his head. Sometimes I just don't feel like cleaning up, again. But the bigger picture keeps me going, the love I have for this little person, for watching him learn and grow and play, makes it all so worthwhile.

I know this is every mother's story. This is what it is to raise a child. Our days are not perfect, but they flow much better than they used to, and I've learned to slow down and focus my time and attention on the things that are most important. It means that some things do need to wait. Not everything I want to get done, gets done. But somehow we still get there. And I call this perfect, because my definition of perfect means perfect now, as is, perfectly imperfect. Not some flashy magazine image of perfect, or whatever else we are told that perfection is. Perfect is our real, messy life. Where soup is flung onto walls and cups of tea are spilled and rouge chickens scratch in my vegie garden. This is my life, and to me it is perfect, and I wouldn't have it any other way.

Do you find happiness in the messy side of life?