There is no such thing as a perfect parent. I know this, and yet I still spend countless hours worrying that I’m doing something wrong—or worse, that I’m causing some kind of irreversible harm no therapy could ever undo. My list of shortcomings feels endless, but at the same time, my children draw out the best of my effort. (The bigger question of why I don’t always give that same effort without their motivation is probably a post for another day.) What matters most, I’m learning, is not perfection itself but how our children see us—their version of “perfect” is found in the love and care we show them, even in all our imperfections.
We finally go back to school tomorrow. It feels like I’ve been seeing “back-to-school” posts for weeks, and now it’s finally my kiddos’ turn. For the most part, I’ve got my ducks in a row—except for one small but crucial detail: I never got my youngest a water bottle.
Cue the quick bemoaning about how back in my day we didn’t even have water bottles. We just went to the water fountain—sporadically—and I’m almost certain we all grew up mildly dehydrated. But alas, times have changed. So, Amazon to the rescue! I found the perfect one and set it for overnight delivery.
Tonight I checked the tracking, only to see the delivery photo pop up… at my brother’s house. Turns out, I had just ordered my niece’s birthday gift and accidentally left his address as my default. Cue the panic. Meanwhile, my daughter was fast asleep, probably dreaming of that perfect water bottle—while I sat there feeling like I had failed her before the school year even started.
I know it’s ridiculous to panic over something like this, but I just wanted her first day—and yes, even her hydration—to be perfect. Instead, I let myself spiral… over a water bottle.
I’ll jump right to the end: I overnighted another water bottle (fingers crossed it actually shows up before she heads out the door). But the whole thing got me thinking—why do we spiral like this?
I think it’s because so much of parenting feels out of our control. We can’t protect our kids from every disappointment or make every day picture-perfect. So when something small is within our reach—a lunchbox note, the right sneakers, the “perfect” water bottle—we cling to it. It feels like proof that we’re doing okay, that we’re giving them the best start possible.
But the truth is, our kids don’t measure our love in Amazon Prime deliveries or Pinterest-worthy details. They feel it in the way we show up, the hugs before bed, the cheers from the sidelines, the steady presence. And maybe that’s the reminder I needed: that even in my spirals, I’m already giving them exactly what they need—me, imperfect but present.
The Forty Files 