Nothing is perfect

Tolliver is as opinionated as a small congressperson.  Replete with confidence.  Brimming with moxie.
He knows what he likes and he knows what he doesn't; he likes almost everything, but not to stop for a new diaper or the beginning of a bath.

While we were at Poppy's, Tollie complained about his rain boots not feeling perfect.  His protests progressed from there.  He stretches out the two syllable word into a sad little melody.
My boots are not perfect. 
My burrito does not taste perfect. 
My watch isn’t feeling perfect. 
My pillow is not perfect. 

Nothing is perfect.

Hardly a day goes by that is not peppered with some sort of disappointment - mine, his, ours.  I don’t know whether it sounds ungrateful to admit that, my own disappointment?  I try to let all the feelings in, even the ones that knock uninvited.  Maybe I shouldn't.  Sometimes the disappointment is watered by tears, I let it grow too big for my body and it spills into other things, touches other people.  Sometimes Tollie's disappointment overstays its welcome and I try to help him usher it out.  I wonder whether I should be more empathetic or whether I should encourage him to be more satisfied.  Probably both.

As for the glasses or the goggles he has constantly glued to his face?  They don't always feel perfect.
I asked him to file a brief with the Flawless Commission.  He is still waiting to hear back.

1 comment:

rht said...

Wish I had a copy of Mac's sermon about the Greek word "teleios" (having reached its end, i.e. complete, by ext. perfect) to share with you and the boys! One of the several unforgettable lessons he taught me!