This past weekend, my husband and I took our son to the local waterpark for Father’s Day. I wanted the day to be perfect. Of course, perfect days don’t really exist except in memory, and almost-perfect days contain moments of worrying about when the back yard will get mowed and the seemingly endless other to-do’s. Even almost-perfect days often end with mysterious bug bites on our butts. Or, at least my butt.
Perfect days do exist in memory though. Maybe the filter of time helps us to forget the bug bites, the overpriced and less-than fabulous food, and the sunburn. Memory is kind that way.
I remember a weekend, spent in the mountains at an eclectic hotel with a gigantic whirlpool tub. I wore a backless party dress to dinner and felt beautiful, confident and loved. On my way to the hotel, I pulled over, parked my car on the shoulder of an unlit road in the mountains of Colorado, and got out to look at the sky. In that moment, I knew God and time and just how large and small each of us truly are. They were endless, those stars. Each time that I thought I was seeing all of them, more and more faded in until it seemed that even the tiny black spaces between them were peppered with more of them, although less bright. The layers felt folded, and soft. It felt like infinity was within reach.
I’d forgotten that weekend until just now. I remember it as being perfect, although I know that it was not. Like I said, memory is kind that way.
The night that my son turned five years old and found the words to say “Thank you, fireworks.” That was a perfect night. I remember sitting there, my legs resting in the cool night’s sand, with my not-so-little-but-still-little little boy in my lap, snuggled against the ocean breeze, ooohing and aaahing as firework after firework amazed us. I felt utterly content. Complete.
This year, the year that my son actually understands birthdays and regularly consults a calendar to see how far away his birthday is will be perfect, too. Even if it’s not. We plan to go on a trip, visit a waterpark, ride rollercoasters, and have messy sticky birthday cake with my husband’s family.
It’s likely that I’ll get stressed out, the weather will be too hot or too rainy or too humid, and my husband will annoy me. There will be spilled food, possible tears over having to actually leave the amusement park, and disappointing food. But really, none of that stuff matters. Because once we return home, I’ll forget the messes and instead remember the magic. That my little boy turned six, that we watched fireworks together, that he had an early party with friends prior to our trip, and that no matter what, we are family. He will know that he is loved. And that’s pretty perfect.
This has been a Finish the Sentence Friday post, where writers and bloggers each finish the same sentence and link up to read one another’s answers. This week’s sentence is “Everything was perfect when…”
Your host: Kristi (me!) from Finding Ninee
And this week’s co-hosts are:
Jessica from Ramblings of an ADD Mommy
Kerri of (Un)Diagnosed But Okay
Michelle of Crumpets and Bollocks