It reminds me of when I was little and my grandmother would sit me on her lap and feed me cream of wheat.
Eager to find an unmixed lump in the cereal. I believed those were special. Never viewing them as mistakes. More like treasures.
As I grew older, making my own porridge, I would purposely under mix the grains. Hoping for a few lumpy portions.
I've asked my kids if they like them too. They agreed. The lumps make it better.
I don't know at what age we forget.
That life is only good with imperfection. That sometimes mistakes can bloom in to the best things ever.
I don't know at what age we remember again.
But for now, I'm trying to relearn the knowing I've undone along the way.