Imperfectly Wonderful

Like many women, I struggle a bit with perfectionism.
The idea that in order for me to spend my time doing something, I must do it right.
You know the feeling right?
I can’t vacuum right now because I don’t have time to do a really good job.
I can’t make pancakes because they are not as good as my husband’s.
I can’t plant those flowers by the front door because I really need to relandscape the entire yard.
And so, instead of doing something imperfectly, I do perfectly nothing.
A couple of weeks ago I promised my daughter a picnic. I got out my grandma’s blue blanket and a cute wicker basket. But when I reached for the bread, all I found were two heels and crumbs.
My first instinct was to cancel the picnic, but I had promised, so I started looking for Picnic Fare: Plan B.
Here is what I came up with:

Please note the leftover “happy birthday” plates. In addition, the tubs of pasta and salad would not fit in the cute wicker basket; it had to be replaced by a plastic grocery sack.

We I lugged the blanket and food all over trying to find the perfect spot.

We ended up in the dirt, by the creek.

It was lovely.

My girl spent her time throwing rocks in the water,

and putting on a show for her captive audience,

while I lay back on the blanket and took in the sights.

It was a perfect moment.

Until we realized that the patch of dirt we spread our blanket on was really a dog toilet.
Somewhere there’s a metaphor in this. Any suggestions?