It Started with Lunch Meat. . .

I started by taking out the bread and the peanut butter and placing them on the counter. Next, I opened the refrigerator and grabbed the lunch meat, mayo and cheese. As I grabbed the cheese, I knocked over another package of cheese cubes resulting in fallen cheese cubes all over the refrigerator. I set the mayo and other cheese on a shelf and cleaned up the cheese cubes before picking up the mayo and other cheese and carrying them to the counter. (Did you follow that?)

First, I made Charlie a peanut butter sandwich for school and placed it in his lunch box. Next, I grabbed two slices of bread and began to make Chad a turkey sandwich for lunch. I spread the mayo and made a mental note to pick up mustard next time I go to the store. (I’ve made that mental note about three other times and have forgotten to purchase mustard during my last three trips to the store.) Next, I reached for the lunch meat, but didn’t see it on the counter. I must have left it in the fridge, I said to myself.

I looked in the fridge. Nope.

Pantry? It wasn’t there.

I double checked the fridge. I triple checked the pantry. I cringed as I looked in the trash can.

Nope. Nope. Nope.
Chad walked into the kitchen. I lost the lunch meat, I told him. I just had it in my hand. He just laughed because this has become more my norm.

Chad checked the fridge and the pantry and the trash can once again.

Um, I just took the trash out, I told him. He walked into the garage, lifted the trash can lid, opened the trash bag and sure enough, there sat a half full (I’m an optimist) container of lunch meat. He tossed it to me and I finished making his sandwich and we went on with our evening.

I’m not sure when I threw the lunch meat in the trash can or how I possibly lost those minutes while making sandwiches. Somehow, though, those moments vanished. Somehow, I picked up the lunch meat, opened the trashcan, threw the meat in, and then took the trash out to the garage and had absolutely zero recollection of it.

Am I the only one who does these things? Does this happen to others or should I perhaps visit my doctor to discuss my memory lapses and absent mindedness? I’m half tempted to break my “no New Year Resolution” rule in order to declare 2014 “The Year Summer Was With It.” However, I think we all know how that would play out.

In all reality, a few years ago things like this would have never happened. . . or if it did, I most certainly would not have admitted to it. You might call me a recovering perfectionist. I used to think things had to be just right. I used to think that life had to go just so. I used to think that I had to be, well, perfect. As far back as I remember, it was important to me that things have order and that I was prepared and ready and didn’t make mistakes. I went to great lengths to maintain my idea of “perfection”, (That’s a whole other blog post.) but now, things are different.

As the days and years roll forward I have learned the importance of laughing at myself. ~~I’ve learned~~ I’m learning, that it’s okay to laugh and to not take myself (or life) too seriously. Don’t get me wrong. . . I have my moments. I have days when I slip back into expecting too much and blowing non problems up into problems. But in the end, there is this quiet place in my soul that completely understands that the list of things that ‘really‘ matter, isn’t nearly as long as I think it is.

In reality, that list is pretty short.

Oh, how I want them to get it. I want them to get it sooner than I did. I want them to understand that mistakes are okay. I want them to understand that “perfection” is only a word. I want them to get that laughter is food for the soul.

I understand that, in part, it’s up to me (and Chad of course). As we write on the slate of who they are every single day, we are helping them (or not helping them) to understand that mistakes are okay.

Just a quick glance at our normal everyday lives illustrates the
countless opportunities we have to help our kids embrace who they are at
their core. There are teachable moments everywhere. . . Lessons like. . .

Few things come without hard work. . .

You won’t always win and that’s okay. .

Its more about the journey, than the destination. . .

And don’t be afraid to color outside of the lines. . .

That’s so much easier said than done, though–teaching such lessons–especially for a recovering perfectionist. But even as I write this I am aware of this. . .