This is a blog post I almost didn't write. I almost didn't because I don't really have anything to say. "Who would want to read that?!" my inner voice critiques. But I don't write for "them", I write for me, I write because it is a discipline that sharpens with time and effort poured into it. Even taking time to gather the scattered thoughts into sentences when the subject matter leaves a lot to be desired will, at least in theory, allow me to better express myself when I really do have something significant to relay. That day isn't today, but I have to assume at some point I will be interesting.
My house is quiet.
Well, not exactly quiet. Perfectly quiet doesn't happen around these parts. Relative quiet. Four children down for a rest type quiet. There is still the noise of the dryer (because it is Monday, and damnit! I WILL complete my laundry today) and a box full of kittens in the kitchen. One of the kittens is protesting loudly to its mama as she has him pinned and is giving him a tongue bath. I hear the train, blocks away but so noisy I still can hear the clacking in the relative still of my house. In this semi-quiet, there is peace.
If I waited for the quiet to be perfect before I found the peace, it wouldn't happen. I have found that my tendency to be a card carrying member of the "good enough" club may not serve me well in house keeping but it allows me to find joy without perfection. Just as my home will never be perfectly quiet, my closet the cleanest, my flowers will never grow just so, my children might not be the brightest of all their friends and acquaintances I can lean into the grace of not quite perfect. I can enjoy the freedom of letting go of the ideal and embracing the How It Is.
In the not-quite stillness, I will embrace joy. I will eat the last piece of fruit pizza without having to share a bite. I will drink my tea while it is still hot. I will look a pinterest and admire all the pretty things, clever idea, and happy homes and not feel judged by the perfection casting its shadow on my yet to be folded laundry. I won't worry about where we will be in six months, because I have been divinely placed HERE for NOW and that can be good enough.
I won't strive for perfect. I don't need people to think I have it all figured out, that I am an amazing mother and a doting wife. I am me and I am good enough, a work in progress. I write spirling blog posts that bore my friends, I live in a house with crumbs beneath my feet. I am still loved, I still have something to offer. I won't chase perfect and neglect the gifts given to me in the now.
I will drink my tea while it is still warm and let the laundry sit.