Let’s talk about flaws

So you know, a couple days ago, a reader named Beebe shared some words of wisdom from her generation to my generation. Which in a way, was nice, because every time she talked about my generation, I felt like a twenty-something again. So hooray for feeling younger!

But she also wrote this – Do some self reflection on how much having a retarded child hurts you, and realize you are just angry at the world for seeing what you would rather not. Because being the source of retardation makes you flawed too. (Shock!!! OH NO!!)

That line stuck out to me. Why? Because it’s just plan silly, the idea that I wasn’t flawed to begin with.

Duh. I’m human. Ergo, I’m flawed. Just like you. Just like Beebe. We’re all flawed, that’s part of the gloriousness in being human. We’re flawed, and quirky, and unique in our own ways. No two people are the same. No one person is perfect.

No, really. Perfection is overrated and out of our reach anyway. How many of us bought that “The Art of Tidying Up” book, in hopes that this would change our lives, or at least housekeeping ways, only to misplace the book before even cracking it open?

*raises hand*

How many of us have a pile of clean laundry on the couch, that’s been there for two days because we just haven’t gotten around to folding it yet?

*raises hand*

How many of us have last night’s dinner dishes in the sink this morning?

*I can’t tell, I have teens, they eat all all times and get up before me*

Life isn’t meant to be perfect. Life is gloriously flawed. And that’s okay. It’s what can make things interesting.

As for the other thing Beebe wrote – that having a retarded child hurts me – no. No, having Maura doesn’t hurt me. Well, okay, labor was a bit painful. And the pregnancy wasn’t thrilling. And every so often, she barrels into me or elbows me in the back, and that does hurt. But my heart has never been hurt by her. She gives too much love to ever cause that. Also, she is one of mine, one of the four amazing creatures I’ve birthed and raised and watch bloom into their own unique beings. If I hurt for Maura, it’s that hurt only a parent feels when someone is mistreating their child. It’s the same kind of hurt I feel for all my kids. I worry and fret about them, much to their delight now that they’re teens. But hurt? No, having Maura doesn’t hurt me, how could it? Having people be mean about Maura, that may not hurt me either but it will make me angry. And you don’t want to see me angry. I will put you in a time out so quick, you won’t ever see it coming! So there!

And then, after you’ve thought about what you did, you can fold that pile of laundry on the couch. Because it’s still there.