Just a month or so before my husband and I were married, we found the perfect house. It wasn’t for sale at the time. It was more of an “if you know you know” situation. And I’m so glad we knew.

My husband didn’t even think I would want to tour the house. Over biscuits and mimosas at Overpass Merchant, he casually mentioned that he knew of a house in the area with an owner who might be ready to move across town. “It’s a little rough,” he noted, but I was undeterred. Before he could say anything else, I had paid the bill and we were on our way to stare creepily at a house that was not yet our own.

I remember the day we moved in. It’s hard to forget. Not because of the emotions, but because my mom did the funniest thing possible. She set herself on fire.

Now, I know what you’re thinking. That’s not funny. Well, grow up. It is.

She was unwrapping our plates, bowls and mugs when she set a piece of packing paper on top of my brand-new Anthropologie candle. Again, if you know you know.

Long story short, she is fine. And I still have the leggings she was wearing. They make me laugh every time I see the singed ankle while I’m doing Pilates.

Anyway. Back to the point.

Our house is perfect even though it isn’t. We have done a full renovation. Changed every counter. Every fixture. Every light switch. But still, it’s an old house.

We have one bathroom—and two more human beings than we did when we first saw this house and thought it was perfect. But every time I get frustrated that the bathroom door is locked or my toothpaste is inexplicably misplaced, I remember how lucky I am. How lucky I am to have a house that is perfect in so many ways. And to have a family that follows suit.

No one and nothing is perfect all of the time. No matter how hard we try. What’s important is keeping perspective.

I know that when we finally put in that second bathroom that we’ve been planning for what seems like an eternity, there will still be things that seem out of place or less than ideal. But that’s life.

Every day when I come home, I remember the first time I pulled into the driveway and knew that house was the one.

I’m lucky I get to live there. And I’m lucky I have a family to share it with—even if we only have one bathroom. Say a prayer for me, though. My kids are potty training.