The New Bloghead is Imperfect

Ok, I didn't plan it that way. In fact, I wanted it to be perfect.  I started working on this bloghead in November, following a great tutorial at a blog called Clover Lane.  And now here it is, mid-January, and I thought it was finished.  Last night, I got the Boodge, who was hysterically crying with tiredness since he opted not to nap (and I opted to agree, since I'm taking any opportunity not to nurse him), into bed.  He was so whacked out he was screaming "Mommy, you messed up my hockey game! I want to watch Handy Mandy! I want to watch Micky Mouse Clubhouse! Don't mess up my hockey game!!" Whaaaaa...? Then he was asleep.  Then Peanut started crying, and much more gracefully took the "boo", pulled off, sucked her thumb and went to sleep.  And I was so excited to be free of children, and came right to my blog to finish the 2 hours of work on my bloghead that has taken 2 months to complete. 

But just as I was wrapping up, I heard Peanut cry in the monitor.  I went to resettle her, but she was awake.  So I decided to take her with me to see the unveiling of my new bloghead.  But when I hit "view blog", there it was, all blurry.  I enlisted the help of my geek husband.  He was already grumpy because he was still working at 8pm, having run into a technical glitch with their software.  He quickly did something and said I should be fine. I wasn't. And Peanut was not really happy to be working on the computer either.  So, I decided, what the hell, I'm resolving to be imperfect anyway, so now I have an imperfect blog head.  I'll work on it, but...it is what it is for now.  Hopefully, better than it was before, anyway.

And while we're on the topic of imperfect, I wanted to point to this great post at Mama Renew, "Mother Superstar".  A cool bit of poetry that sums up some of the feelings I'm grappling with these days.  And another quote from a poem by Mary Oliver, one of my favorites, that a Facebook friend reminded me of today: 
You do not have to be good. 
You do not have to walk on your knees
for a hundred miles through the desert repenting. 
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.

And I do love my kids and my family, so much.  For the whole poem, look here. 

Everybody have a wonderful, imperfect day.