Rose-Colored Glasses

My life is not perfect.

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I mess up on a daily basis.  I can be too disconnected from my son.  I can go days and weeks without a kiss for my husband.  My house is perpetually cluttered.  I’m infertile.  I don’t reach out to others as often as I should.  I haven’t weeded my garden since May.  I have $2000 worth of imminent repairs needing to be done to our concrete and car.  I have way too much debt.  I am late more often than I’m on time, and I’m almost never early.

But it’s not all bad, not at all!  Sometimes I just need to put on the rose-colored glasses and completely revel in the perfection.  That’s what I’m going to do now.  Not to make anyone feel bad.  Not because I think I’m an amazing specimen of a human being.  Not because I want to be supermom.  Really, I’m going to do it because the last few days have been downers and I need the comfort of remembering that I have been successful (at least in some things), that joy can be full, and that I’ve been blessed beyond measure.

When I put on my rose-colored glasses I see…

1.  A child I’m completely in love with.  Oh, how I adore him!  I made him! And grew him! And nursed him for 20 months, exclusively for 6!

I’ve rested beside his sleeping body on hundreds of occasions, reveling in our shared rhythms.  I read him thousands of pages of books, and then I looked on while he learned to read (because to say I taught him couldn’t be further from the truth).  I powered through when he didn’t want to go to bed, pick up his toys, eat his vegetables, go to school.  I did all these things and more.

I’ve raised him and think he’s pretty amazing, and it’s remarkable that I am having a hand in creating something so amazing.

2.  A “nest,” a home that comforts me, a place in which I feel peace.  I like our house.  It is homey and comfortable and pretty.  I like my things.  Most everything displayed means something to me.  I look around and smile.  I make my bed almost every day.

We grow our own food.  I create here.  I energize here.  I rest here.  I nurture here.  I grow here.  I settle here.  My home is a lovely place.

3.  Creativity bursting from within myself.  I make things.  Wreaths.  Centerpieces.  Gabe’s nursery curtains and crib skirt.

Art clips for him to display his school work.  Accessories.  Nap mats.

Photo walls.

Delicious meals, sometimes even without recipes.  I take photos, photos I love.  I tell stories.  I experience music within myself.  I knit blankets.

4.  Strength beyond my obvious limits.  I have lived through death.  I have lived when I thought it would be better to die.

Sadness rests on my fireplace mantle in the form of my daughter’s ashes, but sometimes I can look at them and smile.  I have lived through broken hearts and worst fears.  I have lived through deadlines that have come and gone.

I have lived through failure.  I have succeeded when I should have failed.  I am strong, and I like knowing that about myself.

Tender, fragile, and strong.  It is a good combination.

5.  Captured moments.  In photos, in scrapbooks, in blogs, in journals.  They represent investments of time – time away from the pressing of the now in order to take captive the ordinary and extraordinary.  When I take the time to look back, the past fills my heart all over again, and I’m infinitely grateful for the gifts of personal history and memory.

What started as whims – my photos and memory-keeping – have gradually become irreplaceable treasures.

6.  A daughter and sister, made such by extraordinary people I’m lucky enough to call family.  We’re friends.  We care.  We go out of our way for one another.  We are the stable but unspoken certainty beneath it all.  We bicker and sharpen one another.  It’s rare – a group that can stand the test of time, becoming better, closer, stronger, and more real.  I believe the best is yet to come for us, and I think it’s an incredible privilege to be able to say so.

7.  A husband and wife.  Who have made a marriage.  Who have made a marriage work.  Even though they didn’t always want to.

Who have built a family.  Even when it was hard.  Who stick it out, even when the sucky “I-can’t-believe-you-did-this-again-you-are-SO-driving-me-crazy” happens one more time. And then another.

Whose feet find one another under the covers every night.  Who have begun to learn the value of being wrong, and even admitting it sometimes.  Who know one another’s strengths and weaknesses and appreciate both the giving and receiving of grace.

Who are in love, even when love doesn’t feel starry and googly-eyed.

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I see in myself a good heart.  A willing heart.  A soul whose company I like to keep.  A mind that hopes.  A body that keeps trying.  Arms that gather comfort and hugs.  A belly that has nurtured babies.  Fingers that fly over keys, musical and digital.  A mouth that is learning to ask for help more quickly and offer encouragement more generously.

It’s not all perfect, but it is good.

That’s what I’m seeing while I wear my rose-colored glasses.

What do you see in yourself when you put on your rose-colored glasses?