Imperfectly Perfect

Yesterday was Mother's Day. Holidays always make me anxious. I tend to have ideas about how I think things will go, and they never go that way in real life. I am not good with changes in routine that are not at least somewhat predictable by having some kind of plan.

So, when a day like Mother's Day rolls around I have a plan about how I think things should go. I feel pressured, and emotional to begin with, and it doesn't take much to derail my mood, which is exactly how Mother's Day started for me yesterday.

At first, I felt bad that I felt bad. I felt like I was being ungrateful, and negative. So, I felt double awful, and this did nothing to make my mood better. Then, I decided to that maybe it was okay for me to feel whatever it is that I feel. I remembered that I had a right to feel my own feelings, and accept them as valid. As I stopped pushing against this mood it began easing up, and my day did indeed turn around to being what I would consider a pretty good day! It was only when I stopped judging my mood, and stopped trying to tell myself what feelings I should feel that things began turning around to being more positive.

That reminded me of something that happened earlier last week. Beans is very much into getting into, and taking all of my nic-nacs, and other decorations. I don't have many anymore for him to get to. The only ones left in the living room were in a closed shelf that he never bothered until last week. They were all the ones that were irreplaceable either by emotional attachment, or because they were collectible. He would wait for me to be in the bathroom, or have my back turned to climb up to the shelf, and get them out. On one occasion last week he broke one. It was a candle holder that my deceased grandmother had bought me when my daughter died. Obviously, there was no replacing this object. I wasn't heartbroken about it, really. I don't get attached to objects, but I was sad that it had been broken.

When my husband arrived home from work, and saw it sitting there in pieces he went straight to gluing it back together. I didn't think it could be repaired. It was too damaged, I said.
He attempted it anyway. It does not look pretty now, The cracks are visible, and the angels are broken up. The three of them don't match, as they all now have missing pieces except one.

Though, I didn't say it out loud, as the night wore on I thought to myself that in some ways it's more perfect than it was. It is a perfect metaphor for my life. It seemed to be meant to be the way it is, and there was no use in getting upset about something I couldn't control. Beans breaks things all the time. He doesn't do it on purpose, or because he's naughty. It happens every day, and there's nothing I can do about it. I just have to accept the situation (and him) as it is, and put things away better if I don't want them broken. My life is not what I might have expected. It has had it's difficulties, and it's heartaches. Somehow, we always pick up the pieces, and mend it to be still be a great experience we all share in together.  As soon as I let it go, and accepted the way it is, and not what I thought it had to be my happiness quotient expanded exponentially. Unexpected, imperfectly perfect.

Hope was my daughter's middle name.