I’m Not Perfect
Sometimes it is helpful, comforting, and to be honest, rewarding when you know that someone isn’t perfect. For example, I feel better knowing that Hottie Hubby has a hard time resisting chocolate. This human frailty in him makes my mistakes less magnified.
I know, it’s sick and twisted.
Jordan Rubin, author of the Maker’s Diet, has a big bowl of ice cream once a year. That comforts me when I have ice cream once a week.
But before I further tell you that I am not perfect . . .
Let me introduce Elias. His mom is pretty granola. Elias was born naturally, like his sister. But this time, the doctor wasn’t even present to catch him!
Babies have a lot to teach us.
Like newborn babies, crave pure spiritual milk,
so that by it you may grow up in your salvation
1 Peter 2:2
It was pretty fun to capture Elias with Willow, who will actually be making a new debut soon (thanks Dad!).
This was my first opportunity to try and capture the nuances of a baby.
OK back to my topic.
If you live with me, are related to me, or even see me driving, you KNOW that I am not perfect.
However, I know that our lifestyle can be intimidating to people. This explains why no one ever has us over for dinner. They think they have to go buy a cow and slaughter it themselves, grow some healthy bacteria, bake fresh bread, and deliver manna for our meal. But what they forget is that . . .
Next to the question, “How do you have time to do what you do?” people ask, “What is your one vice?” They want to feel good about themselves, too. See!!!! I am not so demented.
Well, today’s not perfect post isn’t a habitual regression into my old ways, but an exception. After meeting Elias for the first time, the Granola children were expressing some discomfort in their bellies. Not being near the “city,” we did the best we could, at the time, and in the time frame I had to make a decision.
We ate real fast food.
My mother-in-law was going to alert the media. She couldn’t remember the last time she sat with me in a fast food restaurant.
People often worry that their children won’t behave in a nice restaurant. I have never worried about this. I worry about how my children will behave in a fast food joint. We don’t frequent them enough for them to know the behavior “code.”
I repeat, I am not responsible for this behavior. (Drinking out of the milk carton and licking the plate all come from Hottie Hubby.)
Mr. Me-Too used his fingers a little too much.
No, we didn’t wash our hands before we ate. Come on . . . truth be told, you don’t wash your hands before you eat out at a fast food restaurant. Don’t get germ-a-phobic on me. I’m just not afraid to admit it. We wash our hands a home, but sometimes when we are out . . . it just doesn’t happen, unless we have been somewhere grimy with lots of kids.
Do you realize how hard I have been working on this at home?
So that has been our day. Random.
And for those of you who were worried about our carpeting . . . we finally got a vacuum. I’m working on a
giveaway. Keep saying your prayers! Oreck here we come!