Tuesday, July 3, 2012

Debunking the Myth of Perfection

To combat almost 100 degree temperatures, the boys and cousin Grace hit a splash park and then followed up with a frozen treat at a local ice cream store.

One of my dearest friends called this afternoon.  I've always placed her on a pedestal.  She's just about perfect in every way: Harvard educated, bakes like a trained pastry chef, cooks like a professional, looks like a supermodel, decorates like a Design Star, and that's just the start.  And her kids?  Well, they make the Duggar children look like a bunch of juvenile delinquents.

So I guess that's why I was so surprised by today's phone conversation. It went something like this:

Dear Friend:  So tell me about your marathon training?

Me:  Well, I've just started and...

Dear Friend cuts in (directing her comments to her children):  Hey, I told you we were picking the Barbie movie.  Turn off the Teenage Mutant Ninja movie right now.

Cries and wails filter through the phone's receiver.

Dear Friend:  Sorry about that, what did you say again?

Me:  I've started to do a couple of long runs, they're going...

Dear Friend cuts in again (speaking in a higher octave):  That's dangerous and against the law.  You cannot take your seat belt off in the car and you know that.

More tears.

Dear Friend:  Let's try again.  Tell me about your training.

Me:  I've really just started...

Dear Friend (fully exacerbated):  Oh my goodness, why did you get into the chocolate chip cookies?  You're completely covered in chocolate.

At this time, I can't continue our conversation as I'm laughing too hard.  Truthfully, somewhere deep inside I was celebrating.  I was just a wee bit glad to witness (via a phone call) her imperfections.  (How many times have I sounded like that on the phone?)  This realization drenched me with guilt.  Did I really want my friend to suffer?  

Of course not.  

Absolutely not.  

I dearly love my friend.

 I realized hearing what was going on with her children didn't provide me with joy, but comfort.  Twisted, I know.  I was comforted in the fact that I'm not the only one that deals with unruly, messy, crazy children.  The conversation on the phone debunked any silly notions I have about perfection.  No one's perfect.  No one's children are perfect.  Even Harvard-educated supermodels have children that leave them speechless and flustered!

As we finished the phone conversation, I felt an even stronger connection to my friend.  She isn't perfect and her children aren't perfect either; but she is still perfect in my eyes. 


1 comment:

  1. Your cousin Grace's toe looks swollen. Did she injure it?