Confessions of a Memory Perfectionist

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Memory Perfectionist

My garden was gorgeous. Perfect trellises. Sharp linear rows. Scrumptious fruits and hearty veggies that my family harvested together on a lazy summer evening.

That’s what my ‘Ideal family time’ Pinterest board looks like anyway. 

I have big plans, HUGE plans, but that is what they stay, just plans. Not because I am lazy, but because I am a memory perfectionist. I don’t want to mess up what could be an incredible family moment, a memory my kids will have for a lifetime, because I didn’t think through what kind of wood is ideal for making garden beds in the Midwest in June. How could I forgive myself if I used the wrong soil or didn’t space out the plants in an ideal distance. These types of questions haunt me whenever I am excited to venture out and try something new. I must learn all about it first and, basically, I freeze, because who can learn ALL about anything?

I get overwhelmed and I move on to the next great idea for my family, like storage bins in their favorite color with pictures on the outside to signify which toys get put away in which bin. Of course the bins would be labeled with the words to work on their pre-literacy skills. I will need to laminate the labels on the bins so they don’t get bent or ripped or used as some sort of weapon in my house (have I mentioned that I have 3 boys??). I should also put a number on the bins so they have to put them away in numerical order to ensure they are familiar with counting and sequencing.

Where is my coffee, this is exhausting.

I am not sure how long I have been like this, but I know it has come to an all time high now that I have kids of pre-school age who are interactive and fun and full of life. I want to make beautiful memories with them that they will tell their kids about, or even better, want to pass onto their own kids. I want to enrich their lives and be the mom from the magazines.

I get so obsessed with the perfection of the memory that I don’t create the memory.

I see myself missing chances to create memories with them and the proverbial sand slipping through my fingers, but I still find myself…..planning. Until recently.

I came home from the gym on a Saturday afternoon and my husband and boys were out back. I walked to join them and found them digging in the dirt, but with a purpose. They were planting seeds!!! Just digging holes anywhere and planting seeds. I had a small panic attack. “Wait” I said “How much water do they need? How much sunlight? Do you need to space them out more? Won’t we need a fence around them to keep critters from enjoying them?” My husband just shrugged and laughed at me (not all that uncommon in our household).

I sat and watched them finish their ill-planned garden and half expected them to come up and ask my opinion on what they should do next or how they take care of it now.

But they didn’t.

They just continued about their day. So I let it be and waited for the inevitable “We should have let you plan this out” conversation that was sure to follow. And wouldn’t you know it, that garden grew! We have been harvesting cucumbers daily for a week now and they are huge! Green peppers are coming along and I am not exactly sure what the other plants are, but I am excited to see if they make it. The boys love it and go check on it regularly.

Green Pepper Garden
Perfectly unplanned garden with a very proud little boy!

They eat what we bring in (for the most part) and have a real sense of ownership over it. They are responding exactly how I hoped they would when I planned my perfect Pinterest garden……

But this isn’t my perfect garden for a perfect memory. It’s better. It’s theirs.

Perfectly imperfect. Just like them. I almost missed this because I was so focused on the end of the memory, I forgot that the memory comes from the journey, not the destination. And you can’t plan a perfect journey, you have to just go.

Do you get caught up in perfectly planning? I challenge you to stop planning and just do, fly by the seat of your pants and just dig those holes anywhere you want and see what might grow.