Perfectly Imperfect

I do imperfection very well.   Maybe being human contributes to that ability to be imperfect.   With that being said, I don’t find it being a shortcoming.  This morning I sprang out of bed, hair sticking up everywhere and promptly tripping over the cat bleary eyed as I didn’t hear my alarm.  What I was greeted with was my son, Bailey, who managed to get himself up, dressed, and was fixing breakfast as I bounded down the hall.  He looked at me and smiled.    I was able to laugh at myself.    

Laughter allows me to better accept that I am not perfect.  I screw up.  The beauty is that I can accept, laugh, and even learn something through my many imperfect tendencies.   I think being perfect would be boring and frankly, I am too colorful for that.

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