Imperfect cookies

I have lots of fond memories of baking with my mom. I was always the helper - she taught me the difference in measuring dry and liquid ingredients, how to clean up as you go so there's not a big mess at the end, and that it's actually necessary to lick the beaters from the mixer before washing them - it helps the end result taste better. (Okay so maybe she didn't teach me that but really, it works!)

One of the other things I remember from our baking sessions was how frustrated I would get when we'd make cookies. I could never make them as well as she could, and I was always concerned with the amount of dough I would put on the cookie sheets - they never came out perfect. I can still hear her saying, "Becky it doesn't matter what they look like, it matters what they taste like!"

A couple weeks ago I was making cookies - and some of them were a little burned. I repeated what my mom taught me to Ben, and his response was, "babe I don't care, they're still going to be good." It got me thinking about all the little things we worry about, and how we always hear it's "what's on the inside" that counts. If that's true for cookies, why can't that be true for us?

Last week Kyla mentioned finding a protesting perfect post that I absolutely loved. I'm a little late to the game, but I'm going to participate anyway.

I'm imperfect. I'm stubborn. I steal the covers in bed. Sometimes I say I'm going to do things and then don't follow through. I like a clean kitchen but sometimes whine to my husband about having to do the dishes. I say bad words in the car and tell other drivers they're stupid mother... idiots. I'm not always the best at keeping in touch with people. I tend to over commit myself and then feel bad when I have to back out of something because I hate letting people down. When I'm feeling morbid I make myself think about what I would do if I lost all the people I loved. Sometimes I speak before thinking when I shouldn't, and sometimes I think too much when I should just blurt out what's on my mind. I can be loud and obnoxious, and I don't always look my best when I should.

But this is who I am.

So I protested perfect, celebrated my imperfections, and made cookies. And they tasted amazing. Because after all, it's what's on the inside that counts.

Have you celebrated your imperfections lately?