For the longest time I was hung up on the concept of being normal. Being perfect. I would quiz my husband on what was normal when he was a child. What did you do for birthdays? Christmas? Easter? Summer vacation? Allowance?
I thought I would have it all figured out between his childhood and mine. I would take from here, take from there, blend new family traditions that reflect the old. Sometimes it worked, sometimes it did not. My husband is pretty easy going, so I end up doing whatever I want for chore lists, birthday parties, holidays.
When the kids were younger, he also worked out of town, so our every day routine was different. No sit down for supper every night, mostly we had cereal. Or pizza. Or pancakes. Or whatever the kids would eat that day. We had early mornings when I had class in the morning, and late mornings when I had night classes the day before. We walked everywhere we went because we had to. But we were a bit different having three kids in four years. And the concept of perfect changed. Perfect house, perfect kids, perfect wife and mother became to mean different things.
Then the kids got older, and a new normal was developed. I chose to homeschool. That became our new normal, not everyone else's normal. Then Andy started to entertain more. Which is a very different version of normal as our house filled up with unicycles, magic tricks, doves, machetes, and torches. Non-work hours began to be filed with shows and practice. And rubber chickens.
Soon after we added another boy. And discovered our second child has Asperger's. And ADHD. And our first boy is hyperactive, probably ADHD. Once again, normal shifted. Perfection shattered. What I once thought of as normal was so far away. Perfect was not even a long shot. It was no where in sight. And normal became long school days, late nights, a messy house, and hyper children. Loud children. Boys who are such boys! Girls who are such girls!
Soon I came to realize that normal and perfect are more like a mirage. You can see it, you think. You can almost touch it sometimes, but not really. And I adjusted. Our normal is not your normal. Your normal is not our normal. And I am glad. Because I would not trade my fire-juggling, tight-rope walking, magic huband, my girly stage performer, my free spirited nature lover, my delightful 100% rough and tumble superhero, or my singing dancing crazy son for someone else's image of perfect, of normal.
Our lives are filled with rubber chickens, nature crafts, music, glitter, stage performances, dancing, laughter, school work, magic, wonderment, and joy. And it is perfect.
