Imperfect Inspiration

So, if you read my last blog post, it is pretty obvious that I had a whole plethora of excuses as to why I wasn't going to start this writing project.  However, my thoughts on blogging weren't all negative.  I did have some strange sources of inspiration that got my "blog wheels" turning.   I was oddly inspired by several of my early-marriage "fails"... muses of mishap, if you will.

I came into marriage armed and ready for action... I was going to be the most flawless wife to ever walk into wife-ness.  Little did I know my abundance of Lysol wipes |a lemony-scented kitchen is the sign of a wife who has her act togehter, right?| and my plethora of recipes neatly scribed out onto color-coordinated recipe cards |if disinfecting screams 'act together' then color coding shouts it from the mountain-tops, right?| would do me no good in the "trenches" of marriage and domestication.  I soon learned that all of the preparation in the world couldn't truly equip anyone for marriage.  I soon learned all of those hours of pre-marital counseling could also only take us so far. |But seriously, shout-out to mine and Brady's counselor.  She is like the best friend I have always wanted but have to pay $90 dollars to hang out with.  I keep trying to convince her to be my 'real life' friend because she is so amazing but she always responds with some bogus excuse about 'client confidentiality'.  I think she is just playing hard to get.| It was one of those gotta get in their, get your hands dirty, figure it out day-to-day, sort of things.

Any of you out there who have learned from hands-on experience knows that it is great and that it is rewarding but, you also know that it is messy and full of mishaps |the kind that inspired this blog|.

The first few days, weeks, and months of marriage were messy.  Gloriously messy but, nonetheless, messy |and when I say messy, I don't actually mean messy.  I was so consumed with being "that wife" whose 800 square foot apartment looked like a show room|.  I felt completely inadequate and unable to accomplish what I wanted to.  Needless to say, this lack of preparedness lead to mistakes and anxiety at first but, now in hindsight, some pretty ridiculous stories.   

I bring you... #newlywedfails.




One of the first nights in our new place I had decided that I was going to make homemade sweet potato fries for dinner.  Brady loves sweet potato fries and I wanted to deliver! So, I quickly turned to Pinterest, looking for a reliable recipe.  I stumbled upon one from Paula Dean |she is as domesticated as it gets, I need to channel my inner Paula for these bad boys so... bring on the butter|.  Sadly, no butter but... the recipe did call for "parchment paper".  |Hmm...interesting|.  It said the baking sheet would be lined with said "parchment paper" and topped with the fries to be cooked. I looked through the few cupboards and drawers in our kitchen |that didn't take long.  People, I said 800 square feet|.  I found it!  Domesticated win #1 for the new Mrs. Van Dyke.  I felt so proud that when I stocked my new kitchen I had the foresight and the knowledge to know no "respectable" kitchen would be complete without parchment paper.

I eagerly sliced the sweet potatoes, drizzled them with olive oil and spices |more on that to come in a future #newlywedfail| and spread them evenly on my parchment-paper lined baking tray.  I gingerly placed the tray in our oven, circa 1970, and waited.  Almost immediately smoke began swirling out of the oven, pouring into the kitchen, and quickly set the smoke detector off |thanks a lot smoke detector, let all of our neighbors know the girl who lives next door is not the "perfect wife"... she... gasp... burns things!|.  I yanked the smokey, inferno out of the oven and inspected the damage.

The parchment paper had become a charred mess - altered from the crisp white it was to a singed, black pile of ashes dusting the sweet potato fries.  Something was wrong... it had to be.  Paula said this would work and smoke detectors do not go off in Paula's kitchen.  My eyes landed on the culprit.  The parchment paper I was so proud to have found was not, in fact, oven-safe, baking-designed, sweet potato-perfecting parchment paper.  It was wax paper.  Wax.  The stuff that flammable candles are made out of.  The stuff that melts at high temperatures.  The stuff that no one would ever, ever cook onto their food.  Ever.

I swear I can read.  I swear I am more logical than that.  I swear I also was so consumed by being so perfect and so impressive in the kitchen that I did the complete, and utter, opposite.

In that moment I decided I could laugh or I could cry |I am not telling you which one I did because it would make for a way less inspirational blog post|.  But now I can laugh.  |Did that give it away?| I can laugh at the fact that it took all of one week to set off a smoke alarm in our first place together.  I can laugh at the fact that I almost fed my husband wax which I am pretty sure is not great in terms of clogged arteries.  I can laugh at the fact that I ever thought I could be perfect at this wife thing. I can laugh at the fact that I thought hiding these "fails" was a good idea, instead of spinning them into the positive sources of inspiration they were designed to be.

I am grateful for the "newlywed fails", and the "we've been married for forever fails" that are yet to come, because they mean growth, they mean memories, and they mean being able to laugh at the revolving door of silly mistakes I find myself constantly in, but also having someone to share that laughter with.  All of that sounds great to me.  All of that makes a "newlywed fail" not seem like a fail after all but more like a... #newlywedwin! 

|What is your "parchment paper"?| |How can you combat the desire to be so perfect that it unintentionally sends you in the complete and opposite direction?| |How can you alter your perception to see your "fails" as the beautiful "wins" that they truly are?|

Hugs and "-ish"

Jessica Van Dyke 


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