My version of perfection isn’t going to be yours, and that’s okay

Our home is small and modest. It’s decorated with some relatively new stuff, some old stuff and some hand-me-down stuff. There are stains on the carpet and there are Toy Story stickers on the table. There are tiny fingerprints on our bathroom mirror and tiny socks and shoes, well… all over the place. 🤷‍♀️

I hate the look of our kitchen table but I LOVE the laughter that happens around it. I despise the kitchen floor tiles that somehow *always* look dirty but I could watch those little feet dance, run and jump across it all day long. I could definitely say goodbye to the black and pink bathroom combo and never look back, but dang…maybe I’d miss seeing my three tiny humans play and splash in that one-of-a-kind tub? 🛁

There are toys in the living room and the guest room because we don’t have a dedicated play room. There are craft supplies in the mudroom because they need somewhere to create. There are books upon books in their room because they need a quiet place to read.

And now, there are Christmas decorations and more(!) books all over the place.🎄 But I’ve decided—even in our small, humble home, that we can make space for these bits of joy that make our lives sparkle a bit more this holiday season. We’ll push over some old books and make room for The Polar Express and Snowmen At Christmas. We’ll move the puzzle bin to the hall and let the toy nativity take it’s space.

We’ll bend and adjust and find room for the Christmas fun in our little nest. The paper chains will dominate our living room and I’ll forgive myself for not being the perfect decorator.

None of this life is “perfect”, but who gives a 💩. It’s what we make of it. It’s what we say it is. So I guess if it’s perfect to me, than it actually *is* quite perfect and again… who gives a 💩 what anyone else’s definition of perfection is anyway?

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