Expect the imperfected

I don't know if you can see from this photo, dear reader, but my toenails were lovingly painted by my nine year old in her salon yesterday.

After she polished her toenails, she offerred her spa services to her sister and me.  We gladly accepted, (don't we all want our feet rubbed??).  Her toenails looked so fab.

When she painted mine, she was a bit crestfallen b/c the pedicure turned out in 3D--there were clumps of polish sticking up and she had to spend about 10 minutes cleaning polish from around my nails.  In the process she also took the polish off my nails, and she had to start again.

We talked about practicing and what it means to practice and do things over and over and then, eventually things turn our more like you envision them, some version of perfect.

I really don't like things to be too perfect.  It bothers me. It makes me nervous.

When Eva said, "mama, you are probably going to want to wear your tennis shoes out b/c that polish is looking bad."  I told her NO WAY!  I rocked that bright pink polish right to the restaurant, and will continue to rock it until her salon opens again.