Perfect

I have never, ever been a perfectionist.  My wall hangings are crooked, my handwriting is sloppy, and I fold clean clothes inside out. And I honestly have to say- I have no problem with this at all.  In fact, I almost like it. How much time have I saved myself by hanging up a shirt inside out when I'm not going to wear it again for weeks? How much anxiety have I saved myself by looking at my wall hangings slightly sideways instead of fussing about them? My baking may be subpar but at least I contribute to the family feasts and I rarely hear complaints. Yes, that is a bleach stain on my shirt but it just assures everyone I'm wearing clean clothes.  (Will especially hates that)

Well something terrible has happened. I think I have developed selective perfectionism.  It first developed at school. I ran to 3 different thrifts stores finding the right materials for my lesson.  Yes, I sanded and painted wooden trains for a 20 minute lesson I will never teach again. No team, you do not have to get anything for Friday's lesson because I got the supplies weeks ago.  Embarrasingly enough, I did bring props for an ungraded 30 second skit.
It hasn't stopped there.  My morning came to a screeching halt when Will cheerfully told me he made the bed.  With a quick "thanks" I couldn't get in there quick enough.  The sheets were not hospital corners, the pillows were all wrong, and there there was a gap at the foot where quilt meets bedskirt.
Another day, I appointed Will to swiffer the entry way.  30 seconds later he's done.  Sure enough, he had "pulled a Mae" and strategically swiffered around every flung shoe, rug, even shoelace on the floor. 
Normally, that would be ME.  And I was almost jealous! How carefree! 

I have decided, before it gets to late I'm picking my battles.  I can be a perfectionist about school and I will allow myself the bed because I like it looking nice.  But enough is enough.  I started out as the kid writing over mistakes and forgoing the eraser and I plan to keep that in me as much as school, grades, and being a wife tries to break me into this perfection nonsense. 
I watched my big brother sand all four walls of his bedroom one summer just because he thought the walls weren't flat.  No one was allowed to sit on his chair because of the three books he displayed in a fan-like formation on the seat.  My sister scrubs her floor everyday and my dad used to clean his car tires with a toothbrush.  I won't do it! I have to keep these people sane. :)

Nothing is perfect.

Life is messy.

Relationships are complex.

Outcomes are uncertain.

People are irrational.

           -Hugh Mackay