It was the village venture a few weekends ago, part of the wonderfulness of living in my town. But things weren’t going the way I hoped. I stayed up too late the night before, and then we weren’t quite as prepared as I would have liked when we left the house.

We were walking, because parking is a nightmare. I was achey and still tired and still sick and it was wrapped around me like a heavy coat. It’s a bell jar of exhaustion that is so familiar to my life as a mom.

But the day was pretty and I thought, hey I can just look at the gorgeous sky and trees and this festival and not pay attention to all the things that are bothering me.

It was! it was a beautiful day. And their were balloons, which Veronica coveted. And the Claremont Youth Orchestra was playing, and my daughter danced  so joyfully to classical music holding her balloon. Even the conductor smiled at her.

Then we went to go browse the arts and crafts, and we got separated. Somehow, we got completely separated and I looked for him up and down the very crowded streets. I couldn’t find the others and I was all alone.

I had to walk home. That was the only place I knew we could meet. And there was me again, the heaviness. I am so TIRED and why did we get SEPARATED and I have to walk ALL THIS WAY.

And there was still the dancing that had happened. And there was still a balloon. It wasn’t perfect. But it was a tradition we’d had for years – more than ten years! – to go to this craft fair. It was still pretty good.

Things came back together. It involved more walking than I wanted, but with this and that we all got together again.

After Veronica got into her bed for nap and I was sitting and resting, Chris said “It would have been good if it were just a few degrees cooler.”

I smiled “Nothing’s perfect. It was great the way it was.”

Reaching for perfect can be more uncomfortable than enjoying the good. And with family, really, I recommend it.