July 27, 2015


Running the water I open the bag of Epsom salts. This particular batch has a lot of clumps. These are may favorite. Like tiny bath bombs you can drop in to the tub and crumble with your fingers. 

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.