I’m not perfect, no I’m not.

I didn’t blog last week. No good reason, other than I was in a bit of a funk and wasn’t inspired to. It’s a pity, because last week, we finally took the lightrail to Pike’s for Ice Cream and we also finally went to the NC zoo. Both were very blog-worthy events, but what can I say.

So this past week, instead of blogging, I’ve been having conversations about expectations and communication and friendship and who’s really in charge.  I’ve also been reading some interesting blog posts about the same kind of stuff.

The kid is a big fan of Laurie Berkner, and she has a song Called “I’m not Perfect” on her Victor Vito album.  And he likes to remind me that he’ll “do his very best”.  In fact, as I was hovering over him while he was separating eggs for ice cream, he said just that: “It’s OK mom, I’ll do my very best.”  Granted, his “very best” resulted in the un-separation of eggs, but we got the yolks out with a spoon, and the ice cream was made, so in the end, although *his* very best was not exactly the same as *my* very best in the egg-separation department, the desired result was acheived, so what does it really matter?

Now, I’ve never been one to have a perfection complex, and those who know me will tell you that I don’t really have self-esteem issues.  But I do try really hard to be a good mom (whatever that is), and I like to think that although we don’t take a ton of vacations or have a lot of “stuff”, my kid is happy and healthy and thinks I’m OK.

Which brings me to today. 8 years ago today, my friend K’s mom died. Today, she is taking her little girl out for ice cream, to remember. I was lucky enough to have lunch with them, and as we were leaving, I asked her about the ice cream.  She said “It’s not like we did it all the time, but I remember once, she took me out early from school, and my brother wasn’t there, and we went for ice cream, just us.”

This made me think about the things we remember about other people. It’s the little things, the things that may have happened only once, but were so special to us that we remember them. It’s the happy memories we keep, even if that wasn’t how the day-to-day always was. So that makes me feel a little better. A little better about telling him that he “MUST STOP TALKING.”  A little better about not being able to take him to Disney World this year.  A little better about giving him the scary eyes yesterday when he couldn’t decide: ramp..stairs..ramp..stairs..   And maybe he’s OK with me not being perfect.  And maybe, just maybe, someday, he’ll take someone out for ice cream to remember me.