I Burned The Pancakes On Picture Day (And My Kid Taught Me The Best Lesson Ever)

I burned the pancakes on picture day.

Not just a little brown around the edges. I'm talking smoke-alarm, charcoal-black, open-all-the-windows burned. My seven-year-old daughter Mia stood in the kitchen doorway in her carefully chosen outfit. You know the one: the purple dress with the twirly skirt that we'd laid out the night before. I'd spent forever on her hair, trying to get those two braids just right after watching three YouTube tutorials.

"It's okay, Mama," she said, waving away the smoke. "We can have cereal."

But it wasn't okay with me. Picture day was supposed to be perfect. I'd set my alarm fifteen minutes early. I'd prepped everything the night before. And somehow, while I was helping my son find his other shoe (it was in the toy box, of course), I completely forgot about the pancakes.

I looked at my daughter. I could feel those frustrated tears coming. You know the ones I mean. Single parenting after my divorce hadn't come with a manual, and mornings like this made me feel like I was failing at the most basic things.

"I'm sorry, sweetie. I wanted to make this morning special."

Mia climbed onto the kitchen stool and poured herself a bowl of Cheerios. "It is special," she said. "We're together."

I just stood there with my spatula, looking at this little human who somehow had more wisdom than me.

"You know what?" she continued, with milk dribbling down her chin. "Perfect is boring. The best stories have mistakes in them because that's when interesting things happen."

I had no idea where she got this from, but wow. "Like, remember when you accidentally bought me the wrong Halloween costume last year?" Mia said, grinning now. "I wanted to be a princess, but you got the pirate one from the wrong pile?"

Oh god, I cringed at the memory. I'd been so embarrassed, scrambling to return it. But the store was out of the princess costume in her size.

"That was the best Halloween ever," she said. "I was the only pirate at the party, and I got to teach everyone about girl pirates like Anne Bonny. That wouldn't have happened if everything were perfect."

I sat down next to her. I forgot all about my burnt pancakes.

"So the smoke alarm is going off and having cereal instead of pancakes... that's going to be a good story?" I asked. I was smiling now.

"The best," she said. "I'm going to tell everyone at school that we had an adventure this morning. That's way better than boring pancakes."

You know what hit me as I drove them to school that day? We were five minutes late. I smelled faintly of smoke. We'd had cereal instead of the Pinterest-worthy pancakes I'd imagined. But I realized something big. I'd been so focused on creating perfect moments that I'd been missing the actual moments happening right in front of me.

The school photographer caught Mia mid-laugh when she arrived. Her braids were slightly askew from all the morning chaos. Her eyes were sparkling with the secret of our "adventure." When I got the photos back weeks later, it was my favorite picture of her ever. Real. Joyful. Perfectly imperfect.

I framed it and put it on my desk at work. Sometimes, when I'm feeling overwhelmed by all the things I think I should be doing better, I look at that photo. I remember the morning I burned the pancakes, and my daughter taught me something I'll never forget. Love doesn't have to look like what you see in the magazines.

Family isn't about getting it all right. It's about showing up, even on the mornings when the smoke alarm goes off. It's about being able to laugh when things don't go according to plan. And it's about the small humans in our lives who remind us, with their sticky cereal chins and endless wisdom, that being together is the only kind of perfect that really matters.

I still burn the pancakes more often than I'd like to admit. But now? Now I call them "adventures." And my kids wouldn't have it any other way.

• Maria. Found of One Touch Finance