Rest is allowing the present to be imperfect.
I heard that quotation today as I was listening to a Hope*ologie podcast, and I thought–yes, that is why my summer days have felt so burdensome sometimes. I haven’t allowed the imperfect to be. I’m always reaching for the “perfect summer day.” Today Zoey, Zane, and I hiked to the back forty of our property. Zoey held her horse puzzle box in her hand with her two dolly blankets inside. I held Zane in the ergo carrier with my backpack on my back carrying diapers, diaper changing pad, lunch, book, and bottles of water, and the picnic blanket hanging off my shoulder. It was a short walk, but I was glad to unload under the oak tree, which thankfully did not have any poison oak growing underneath it.
The last two days have taught me much about imperfection. Some days it rears its head more than other days–to remind me of my smallness I guess. I made this zucchini pizza.
The recipe called for 8 cups of zucchini. I unfortunately did not squeeze all the water out because it was a flop. Yes, floppy, soggy pizza. But it had the potential of being really good. Here’s the link for zucchini crust pizza in case you want to make it. Let me know if it turns out nice and crusty for you and you can share your secret tip with me.
And then later that night we bit into a gluten-free crust blackberry pie with wild blackberries we picked on our property that I had made earlier in the day.
Stephen reminded me why there is sugar added to pies. My parents may recall, as do I, of a time in my childhood when someone in our family did not add any sugar to the cream puffs she had made, and my dad saying, “what’s the point?” Indeed. In the future I will not assume that just because the berries are sweet that making a pie with them will also make the pie sweet. For some reason, it doesn’t work that way. Please, if anyone knows why this is the case, let me know.
This is life though, right? Some things go your way and some things don’t. My life long lesson seems to be learning how to embrace the imperfect with the perfect, the mess with the pristine, and somehow not becoming a basket case in the process.