Not Perfect. Good Enough.

If you can do a half-assed job of anything, you're a one-eyed man in a kingdom of the blind.

--Kurt Vonnegut

A couple of weeks ago, I was sitting outside with Roxy while the boys ate at the dinner table. I was making fun of myself because they were eating dinosaur chicken, instant mashed potatoes and canned peaches…again. Roxy usually teases me because they eat so many pieces of chicken shaped like creatures from the Mesozoic Era (What? I watch Friends), but for some reason, that night she just said, “Hey, at least it’s hot food in their bellies”. It’s true, it is hot food in their bellies, and it could be a lot worse. Sometimes I’m a little too hard on myself, though, and forget that good enough isn’t always something to be ashamed of. They’re not the best eaters, anything is better than nothing and frozen chicken, dehydrated potatoes and canned fruit is better than chocolate bars, fruit snacks and string cheese. It’s not perfect, but it’s good enough.

I was talking to someone yesterday, about the exciting subject of laundry, and when I confessed that my folded laundry rarely ever finds its way to closets and drawers, he said, “At least yours is folded.” BAM! Totally right. It’s clean, dry and wrinkle free. That sounds totally good enough to me. Do I want my laundry to be put away? Of course I do. I want my house to be perfect and my car to always be clean and my kids to eat regular chicken. Every once in a while I get those things, but not every day. I could spend a lot of time and energy getting upset about that stuff, and I have, trust me, but part of this whole, corny, “Happiness” journey I decided to embark out on a year ago is teaching me that getting upset because things aren’t exactly the way I want them to be will rob me of the joy, humor and insane beauty that make up what they already are. I don’t want to miss all the good stuff because I’m focusing on the shortcomings.

I have to take this approach a lot, about a lot of things. There are about 15 or 16 emotional directions I could go. I’ve even been known to take 2 or 3 of them at a time. Trust me, “It’s good enough” is the best possible direction for me. And you, if you have the pleasure of being around me on a regular basis.

I’m not talking about taking this approach with the important things. The amount of love I give, the amount of time I invest in myself, the amount of time I invest in other people. I’m talking about the stuff that no one is going to remember when I’m gone. In fact, if whoever gives my eulogy talks about my laundry skills, it will be because I have done something severely, severely wrong.

So, the fact that most of the house is vacuumed today is good enough. It’s harder to vacuum with a helper and Brodie insisted on “Helping”.

The fact that there is no trash or old sippy cups in my car and I can see out of the front and rear windshields is good enough. She’s still really pretty.

The fact that Logan ate two bites of his broccoli and all of his prehistoric chicken before the whining started is good enough. He cleared his plate and told me thanks for dinner.

The fact that I managed to at least wash Brodie’s face and hands and the potatoes out of his hair before he lost his mind and crashed out in between screams is good enough. There is something about the silence of his sleeping that makes me forget he needed a bath.

I can do anything, but I can’t do everything. Not perfectly anyway. Some of it just has to be good enough.

Does that sound lazy? Maybe, but I dare you to call me that after living a day in my world.  

To. My. Face.