In a perfect world, the storylines would always include three. The characters, though different in nature, would find a way to connect. Laughter would abound and tears would cease to exist.
Of course, in a perfect world, there would always be four.
But perfection, if indeed there is such a thing, is overrated. Perfection is for people who don’t see the value in working through the process, learning from the ups and downs along the way. It’s for those who want immediate, and perfect, success.
Truthfully, I’m not sure I would want to live in a world of perfection. If there is just one perfect way, there is no room for diversity. And if there were no room for diversity, the world would be a very boring place.
It was a morning like any other. A red-hot stream of sunlight filtered through the break in the curtains, nearly blinding anyone who dared to peek through. The sink was full to capacity with the remains of breakfast, evidence of a family well fed to start the day.
My two pajama clad children sat nose to nose on the couch, conspiring.
“If we hide behind the pillow we can surprise her when she walks over.”
“Yeah! And then we can yell Happy Birthday!”
(Everyday is a birthday, after all.)
Wrapping my hands around my steaming mug of heaven (recently reheated for the third time, of course), I slowly made my way over to the play area, pretending not to notice.
“Surprise! Happy Birthday!”
Somehow, they timed it just exactly right. With Cheshire cat-like grins and giddy laughter they nearly knocked me onto the floor. Remarkably, the coffee remained in tact (this mom can balance).
And then, we began to play. For a good twenty-five minutes, we sat in a circle crafting our storyline. Strawberry Shortcake was in need of an emergency visit to the doctor, and Baby Boy’s ambulance was there to save the day.
It was, by all accounts, the perfect parenting moment.
Until it wasn’t….