Every few hours, at night only, you hear a loud "Bawk! Bawk! Bawk!" coming from the playroom.
This has been going on for months.
I assume that a live chicken has not, somehow, gotten in there and is subsiding on cookie crumbs. I assume Dave is not secretly breeding chickens. It's one of the kids' trillion toys gone haywire. I am not even sure which one.
I just don't care. I have declared the toy room a perfect-free zone.
Sure, I like the rest of my house to look relatively uncluttered. I grew up with a dad who was a dedicated pack rat, and I used to make up for the neatness I never had. I'd spend hours at a stretch trying to match up all the pieces from the kids' games and putting things in order. No more. Arrest me, Martha Stewart!
If we've learned anything from our kids, it's that perfection actually comes in all shapes and forms. And that the word itself is highly overrated—"imperfect" can be just as wonderful. That's our playroom, one big, beautiful mess.
What sort of "perfect" have you given up?
Update: Voting for Best Blog is open again over at The Bump! This time, you get to tell them why you like this blog (if, that is, you like this blog). Here's the link, just scroll down!
