Perfectly Imperfect

Yesterday, we kicked off the magical season in our home with putting up the Christmas decorations. For those who have followed this blog for any length of time, it probably comes as little surprise that I am particular about how and where all of these go. Perfectionistic personalities do not do well with things looking disordered.

As usual in our house, hubby looks for my direction in where the ornaments should be hung and how the lights and ribbons should look. I was getting dinner in the oven when Turkey-Man decided he could wait no longer and began placing the decorations on the tree.

Hubby has put up trees with me for over a decade so he knows things should be balanced and symmetrical. He started dispersing Turkey-Man’s usual little kid tree decorating style –all bulbs in the same place on the bottom of the tree. Hubby looked to me for further instruction. I stepped back for a second and probably surprised him with my answer.

“Do not fix anything the kids do.”

This year, the Christmas tree looks a little funny. The bottom front of the tree probably has three times more bulbs than the top, many dangling Perfectly Imperfect2under the tree. On one side there is a pink streak. Little-Flower loves all things pink so she grabbed several of the pink ornaments and hung them
in the exact same spot.

As we finished the tree, hubby and I stood in awe of the final product. By no means will a picture of our tree ever make it in a magazine, but that is fine by us. In all of its imperfect arrangement, it is perfectly beautiful to us.

Having several bulbs in one area and that pink streak just reminds us that we have small children. Years down the road, I know I will find myself wishing to see my tree so asymmetrical. When my children are old enough to know how the tree “should” be decorated, I will be longing to return to these years.

We are in the magical years. Everything brings a sense of wonder. The seemingly mundane is exciting to them because it is all new. I get to see the world through the eyes of a child who has not experienced it before. It is absolutely one of the best parts of being a parent.

Yesterday, before I set out the decorations, I did a thorough dusting. We seem to have a never ending supply of fingerprints on the TV and sliding glass door. It drives me a bit crazy because no matter how often I clean them, they simply reappear in what seems to be a matter of minutes.

As I went to bed last night, I remembered that they were still there and thought to myself how lucky I am to have them there. I won’t always have those fingerprints. They signify that small children live in this home.

I could have cleaned them last night, but we spent our evening doing more important things. All four of us danced to Christmas music in front of our tree. We practiced our handstands and crab walking. Turkey-Man learned how to do a wheelbarrow race. We just spent time being silly together.

So, if you stop by my house, please forgive me for not having it perfectly cleaned. I could focus on it more, but I am too busy enjoying being a mother. I’ll read that extra book and do silly dances. I’ll cuddle them for as long as they will allow. We will build blanket forts and watch movies together. We will relish in all things that go along with having little children.

Someday, my house will be clean and my tree will be magazine worthy, but not now. Now is the time for imperfections. As the mother of small children, all of those remind me just how perfect our life really is. Perfectly imperfect.

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