Whatever defines a perfectionist, I'm the opposite.
Making me an imperfectionist? According to the red dotted lines on my laptop, that's not a word to which I'll ignore.
Sometimes this self-diagnosed "trait" serves me well (let's not call it an affliction, OK?). I don't obsess over every little thing being in its place -- because all the little things are all over the place. Clutter is very real at our house, and I've given up trying to corral it. In due time, I say. Empty nest? We'll see.
Sometimes this trait doesn't serve me well, though. I think of my brain much like my laptop, always with 100 tabs open. Maybe that's ADHD? For the sake of this column, I'll stick with one self-diagnosis (you're welcome).
This past weekend, all my "traits" culminated in a blaze of glory. In preparation for company coming, within five hours, I had cleaned out the fridge, reorganized the pantry, vacuumed the house, prepped the meal, cleaned the bathroom, washed two loads of laundry and edited a video. Impressive, right? I thought so.
And, then, in the last five-minute homestretch, I swung too hard. I slammed the oven door hitting the skillet handle, splashing blackberry cobbler all over the oven floor. There was enough smoke for a full house fire -- which greeted our dinner guests as they were pulling into the drive.
Luckily, I didn't burn the steaks (that would have been unforgivable). Even though the smoke alarm went off three times while we ate, what was left of the cobbler still tasted good ... and we'll all have a good story to reminisce about for years to come.
Lesson No. 1: Learn to laugh off your imperfections; eventually, the smoke will clear, and what's left will be worth it.
Lesson No. 2: Buy the oven cleaner you never think you'll use, just in case.
Meredith Bernard battles near kitchen meltdowns while writing and tending to farm and family from North Carolina. Follow her on social media @thisfarmwife, and visit her website at https://thisfarmwife.com/…
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