You know all those perfectly manicured lawns?
Those living rooms with the perfectly arranged pillows, and the lamps with the shades that are never tilted?
The flowers that never wilt, the floors that are always perfectly waxed?
And even my own pictures where everything is perfect?
Well. I think those are prepared just for the magazines. :)
Life at the Cottage at 341 South?
It’s perfectly imperfect.
And you know what?
I love it.
Okay, to be honest: most days. :)
That in itself is a tribute to the continual workings of a gracious Lord in a perfectionist woman, that I can learn to enjoy life amid the mess.
If you’ve read here for any bit of time, you know that I also have designated clean-up times each day. But we also have designated play time and learning times.
We do some hot breakfasts, but I also am teaching the girls to get their own cereal some mornings.
Some mornings? It seems like an epic fail.
But those are also the mornings where little girls learn – simple things like competence, little things like how fast to pour the milk, good things like cleaning up a mess, but hopefully most of all, the ability to laugh at oneself even when we make mistakes.
Those designated play times?
We don’t always know where in the house the kiddos will end up. My shower time was stalled one evening when I came upon this.
And I just laughed. Little girls are trying to create a home, learning to make something cozy and cute, and eventually putting things away neatly at the end. :)
My windows that always have little finger prints all over them?
It’s a sign that I have a healthy little boy who is walking around everywhere, learning and discovering, looking out the window at the squirrels and birds, and best of all, the return of his daddy.
The floor that could be mopped every day [it isn’t] and still be dirty?
It’s because there is LIFE in this home, and children growing and thriving.
The legos and Little Kelly’s and Polly Pockets that seem to be lying in wait everywhere for some unsuspecting foot and a yelp of surprise?
They are there because imaginations run wild, and little girls learn to make play rather than having to be entertained.
It’s perfectly imperfect.
Some days those magazine houses look tempting.
Some days I’d like them for at least an hour.
But I wouldn’t trade my Works of Art for those homes anyday.
My Works of Art are real people.
We’re together, we are a family.
Today, we get to enjoy each other, living and breathing.
What a gift is this perfectly imperfect life!
It’s really a reminder of how much I’ve been given.
So today, instead of frustration:
thankfulness for the creativity of my children,
gratitude for health and life,
laughter for those bumbling learning efforts,
kisses to wipe away those crocodile tears,
patience, because I was once a child too…