Remember to Forget

Unexpectedly, I just remembered that I forgot to lower my blusher.
It was awhile ago.  Dad was walking me down the aisle towards my 12 year old groom.  I felt that kind of happy that packed my chest full of air so tight that if I exhaled I would release an embarrassing gasp or burst into tears.  I'm not sure how I made it down the length of the church on one breath, but I did.  At the end of our little walk, Dad bent down (not as far as he normally would, thanks to my four-inch heels) and kissed my cheek.
Without lifting my veil.
Because it wasn't there.
In all the pre-wedding primping, I had forgotten to place the veil in front of my face.  I had been told that a "blusher" wasn't really fashionable anymore, but I always thought it was a romantic touch.  And if there was a moment in my life to revel in romance, surely it was this moment, right?
But if there was ever a moment in my life when I didn't care about insignificant details, it was then.  That overwhelming happiness didn't leave any room for anxiety.
Now that I'm reminiscing, I see a lot of wedding day details that didn't go exactly the way I planned. I don't remember caring when a single one of them occurred.
Not when the organist informed me that the piece of music she had practiced for the wedding was not the one I had listed in the program, but was indeed the one I had requested over the phone.
Not when one of the guests hugged me while holding an ink pen, inadvertently sketching in blue across my bustle.
Not when an elderly man began slicing his way with scissors through the tulle strung along the pews.
Not when the caterers whisked the food away before everyone had partaken.
Not when we didn't have enough chairs for people to sit.
Not  when people didn't dance.
Not when I forgot to remove my veil for the dancing.
Not when the groomsmen pulled a good-natured but slightly embarrassing prank.
Not when my brothers expressed their disapproval over the garter-toss.
I didn't care about any of those details because I was pretty caught up in the bigger picture: I was getting married to a rather tall, tuxedoed man of my dreams.  Someone who still endeavors to make me laugh nearly every day.

At times, the details of my life with the rather tall, tuxedoed man at the end of the aisle haven't gone exactly the way I planned.  But I seem to have misplaced the composure I owned on my wedding day. Most times I lose sight of the bigger picture and I let anxiety over insignificant disappointments snatch away my peace.  I let momentary stuff suck the happy right out of my chest.  I wish it wasn't so, but it is.

Maybe I was just unexpectedly reminded of my blusher because I need to remember to forget the small stuff and immerse myself in today's bigger picture.

For the record, I did not marry a 12 year old.  He just looked inordinately young.  I have a picture to prove it, but you'll have to wait until I find the scanner.  We're old enough to remember film.

Perfectly Thankful

Through various conversations & readings lately, I've been reminded of the pressure we women place upon ourselves to achieve perfection.
Perfect marriage.
Perfect children.
Perfect home.
Perfect meals.
Perfect body.
Perfect job/hobby/creations...
Perfect spelling.

Perfection is the four-lane highway on the guilt trip of motherhood. 
Anyone who's read my stuff before knows that I am not perfect in any of these aspects.  Really not perfect. Some days, I'm determined that my imperfections will not keep me from joy.  Some days I do allow my imperfections (and those of people around me) to keep me from joy.  Some days I forget I'm not perfect, and I actually do something that impresses myself.  And then my camera reminds me. 

See, I made this perfectly cute turkey shirt for GBaby.  Everything about it impressed me: I made it without a real pattern, loosely following an adaptation from one of my mom's sewing patterns from the 70's.  I used only scrap materials, left over from other projects.  I hand-embroidered parts. I even finished the seams and top-stitched it, people! 
It fits perfectly. 
"Gee, I'm so pleased with myself.  I must be perfect.  I'll take a picture to show everyone that sometimes I do things right. I can almost be a craft blogger (except for that whole I'm-not-a-Mormon part)."

Then.
I realized.
I dropped my camera two weeks ago.  And now it doesn't like to focus. (Anyone want to sell me a lens for cheap?)

Durn.
I was this close to being perfect. 

Now I have to pretend my picture is from the 1960's when I was perfect (except for that whole not-being-born-yet part).

Don't tell me that it's all The Awful Worldly World's fault, because it only has as much influence over me as I allow.  So, what drives my (ugly) desire for perfection? Insecurity? Pride? Control? Painful Memories? 
God sees every part of me, the perfect and imperfect.  And still, He loves me.  Amen.  That's enough to be Thankful.  With or without a turkey shirt.

Now, as a bonus reminder, go give a good listen to these two songs from a really great artist.  And be thankful for your imperfections, because they can showcase the enormity of God's love.

Just so you know that I'm not making this imperfect stuff up: I had a really crappy attitude for about 36 hours. You can pray for me (and my poor little family). Thanks.

At Home, In Restful Craziness

My dear, fun-loving sister invited my older three kids to spend their spring break at her house. It was perfect timing, following immediately as it did the arrival of G-Baby. Kids 1, 2 and 3 completely enjoyed the time spent with their cousins (because Aunt J. really is the most fun-loving responsible adult on the planet) and the Baby Girls and I really made good use of the four days of quiet to rest and recover. However, after four days, I was definitely ready for everyone to be home together. Sure, it's already louder and a little chaotic in our house. Yes, we've had some bickering and whiney attitudes this morning. But... YAY! I'm the mother of five wonderful children and they're all here with me!