The other day I inadvertently interrupted one of my colleagues speaking with some other work friends. Later, for some reason or another I asked what they had been chatting about.
"Your perfect family."
I cringed. And I'm sure my brow furrowed. And then I cacked myself.
"My family perfect?" And then I laughed hard again thinking about how imperfect my life is.
The perfect family? Don't think so. Far from it.
I quickly popped that bubble - because I am not one for perpetuating myths. I am not perfect. My family is not perfect. Life is not perfect. I quickly jumped to my family's defence and went to town mythbusting.
I rattled off a whole bunch of reasons why our family is not perfect:
- we argue
- our house is a mess
- sometimes we can't pay our bills on time
- we don't really know what we're doing - we just fumble along
- we sometimes struggle to make decisions - big decisions
- I want to move out of Sydney, Matt wants to stay in Sydney
- my kids faces are covered in chocolate
- I struggle juggling family life with work life
- and sometimes we eat crumpets with butter and honey for lunch
There's so much more that makes us imperfect, and delightfully so, but I won't bore you.
But I did keep confirming to her that our family was not perfect, and that there isn't such a thing as a perfect family. With four individuals, there's bound to be conflict, tension, tears, and mess. Everyone has their challenges.
I could go on. And on. And on. But I won't bore you on the reasons why our little family is imperfect. And we're perfectly happy being imperfect.