I know I’m not perfect. But there are levels of imperfection. Not making my kids’ beds is an acceptable level of imperfect. Going too long between haircuts and nail trimmings is imperfectly a-ok. Squeezing growing bodies into almost-too-tight boots for another season because you’ll be damned if you’re gonna pay $50 for footwear that will be worn twice is perfectly imperfect.

Packing your three-year-old’s lunch thermos with nothing but hot water is the lowest level of imperfect. Hit that nadir today. My husband thought I made his mac-n-cheese. I thought my husband did. The thermos felt heavy, so I didn’t open it before grabbing it off the counter and tossing it into his backpack before Campbell left for daycare.

Sorry, Campbell. I will never forget your lunch again. Hopefully.

Sorry, Campbell. I will never forget your lunch again. Hopefully.

His wonderful teacher called me at 11:44. “Campbell doesn’t have lunch today?”

I’m embarrassed and feel terrible. I’m hoping they didn’t say anything to him to the tune of “Mommy forgot to bring your lunch.” But if they did, I deserve it.

Luckily his school had some pasta and sauce (from where, I don’t know and I don’t care, as long as it didn’t have peanuts in it) and was able to feed him.

It takes a village. Because nobody’s perfect.

What’s made YOUR list of acts of imperfect parenting?


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