Not Perfect

While my kids were away for five weeks this summer, I spent many hours each day excavating in the room they share, trying to go through and thin out 14 years of accumulated books, toys, school papers, and assorted tchotchkes.  I would like to say that their room now looks as though it was renovated by a decorator, but I can't.  It's a whole lot better, but certainly not perfect.

I find myself saying those words a lot.  When I can't drop my daughter at her friend's for a sleepover until 8pm--not perfect, but it's still a sleepover.  When I tell my son he needs to ride his bike in the local park, not the one that would require schlepping the bike on two trains and a ferry--not perfect, but it's still biking.  And when the pasta's somewhere between al dente and mush, so neither my husband (the al dente guy) nor my kids (the mush fans) is completely happy-- not perfect, but it's dinner.

I wonder sometimes, does my complete embracing of non-perfection mean I am settling for less than my best?  And does it teach my children that whatever you can manage to do is enough?

On the contrary, I think I consider "not perfect" to be one of the best coping skills known to man (or mom).  "Not perfect" means that the effort and intention count almost as much as the result.  "Not perfect" means that it's okay to go to sleep even if not all the messes are clean.  And "not perfect" means that there is no reason to beat yourself up every time things don't go quite right.  Because, let's face it, lots of times, things don't go quite right.

So while I am home with my children, freelancing/unemployed (not perfect), perhaps the best thing I can teach them is that "not perfect," even if it's not the goal, can actually be pretty good.