Two things I've learned about henna. If someone compliments your work just say "thank you." No further commentary, for instance a catalog of what's wrong, is necessary. And when you are drawing on someone refrain from exclaiming "Oh No" or even a gently whispered "oops" and certainly never shout "Crap On A Cracker" no matter how appropriate nor how easily the phrase jumps to your lips. Mistakes will be made. Manage them.

I've not found the will or words to write, yet, about washing my chicken's butt. I noticed she wasn't keeping herself quite up to snuff, not quite in line with the hygiene of her chicken sisters. Poo was accumulating in a distressing way, yet for a long time, I denied it. Some days I thought maybe I was seeing different chickens on bad days, in unclean moments. Some days I didn't see it at all. Many days I must have been in denial. Because, who wants to confront a stinky chicken butt? Denial was a mistake, it didn't work, as it can be counted on not too. The experience of washing her was not as bad as I'd feared, even as it became obvious the depth of the problem was worse than I'd imagined. She appears to be pasting up again. I don't know what that means, but it isn't good.

I finally got my goats in a place, physically, where I could trim their feet. I have never trimmed anythings feet before. And I don't think these goats had ever been trimmed either. They were terrified and fought the process as best they could. (Unlike the chicken, who was unexpectedly calm--perhaps relieved--through her ordeal.) The goats fought hard and their feet were atrociously bad.  Not infected, yet, but horribly overgrown and beginning to deform. Of the three of us, we each only bled once. Mistakes were made, yet we emerged wiser and better off.

My dear boy made himself an omelet for breakfast. Rather, he made two, the first one failed. He had forgotten to add butter to the pan before the eggs. So they stuck. When I arrived on the scene he had scraped out the pan and was starting over. Which was fine with me, but he was sort of sick about it. I could hear in his voice, his disappointment with himself. He glumly reported his mistake. I shrugged, preparing to eat the failed eggs.

"Buddy," I told him, "Your homeschooling assignment is to go forth and make as many mistakes as you can. I'm serious. I want you to try to make a bunch of mistakes." This alarmed him, the very idea! He wondered if I was giving him such an onerous task because he is a perfectionist? Yes. Because he has inherited the gift and burden of perfectionism. Mistakes will be made. Embrace them. Be kind to yourself about it. Plan for it, learn to manage it. And above all. Most importantly. For goodness sake, understand that fearing mistakes, and certainly taking a punishing attitude about mistakes--especially with yourself, hinders and limits your life.

Life is unpredictable, uncontrollable, and uncomfortable. There is no perfect way to get through chaos. Perfection isn't even a helpful goal. Unless you happen to be a brain surgeon or a computer programmer. Often perfection is a tool of persecution. Embrace chaos, learn to accept it gently. Do a good job, of course, but in the boundaries of kindness. Because its fairly certain the hard exact line we draw within ourselves will be expressed as rage, later, at the predictably absurd wrongness of others. So much is wrong and mistaken in life. And the most perfect response is a gentle smiling soft kind of kindness about it all.

Or, when that fails, shouting out CRAP ON A CRACKER and moving on as best you can.