Perfectly Crazy

Do you ever speak before you think? Because if you know me, you know I'm famous for that. Now I realize I am also prone to writing before I think. I just read my last post. Should have done that after I wrote it, because it makes it sound like everyone thinks I'm perfect. Actually, the only people who think I'm always happy and get lots done are the people who barely know me. Those who do know me are painfully aware of all of my many, many imperfections. So, actually, all of you who read my blog already know I'm a mess most of the time. No need to clarify there!

Actually, when Kelsey (my sister-in-law) told me she hates blogs, she was talking about a group of her friends. She's never actually read mine, or yours. So, while she was talking about the "perfect image" blogs portray, I was thinking, "You should read the fun blogs I read, because my friends are perfectly normal!" I love to read your blogs because they keep this crazy life in perspective and help keep me laughing. That afternoon, when I was feeling so grouchy and undone, I looked around, took a look at my house and myself, and had to laugh aloud. No perfection here! I had just spent the day shopping because I can't do my pants up, my house was a disaster, and I just finished yelling at my kids. For Kelsey's sake, I just had to document it. I have no visions of my posterity or you having ever considered me being perfect. Realistically, I'm actually just hoping my children are not going to be in counseling someday as a result of my imperfections.

So, anyway, if you ever get sick of reading your other friend's "perfect" blogs, you can just click on mine. It seems the one thing I'm "perfect" at is being imperfect!

For my Posterity

In a recent conversation, my sister-in-law was commenting on how she hates blogs. According to her, all of her friends' blogs give the impression that their lives are perfect. Perfect houses, perfect kids, perfect husbands. I've been thinking about that. I 've also been thinking about another conversation I just had with my sister who was lamenting in the midst of a bad "mothering" day that she wished our moms would sometimes tell us all of the gritty details of their own mothering days. . .just to help us feel better and realize it's more normal.
Lately several people have commented to me about how happy I always am- how they don't know how I can be so happy and get so much done. This makes me laugh- and shudder. I hate to think I've mistakenly given anyone this impression. In light of all this, and because I am publishing my blog for my posterity, I want to alleviate any misconceptions.

This is me today. I am not always grouchy, but today I am. I am feeling mean and tired. My house is a horrible mess. I have no desire to clean it. This may be because 24 hours ago it was somewhat clean. (I say "somewhat" with liberty.) Somehow, our house undergoes a spontaneous deconstruction every few hours. Amazingly enough, no one knows how this happens. The shoes, bags, food, wrappers? "I didn't do it". Me either. Some days, I just get tired of cleaning it up again.

The laundry piles are mounting. Funny, because I had it all done just a day ago. Oh, except the baskets were already half full again by the time I put the "last load" in.

I have a church meeting tonight that I don't want to go to. This is silly, because I know I will be so glad that I went. But I still don't want to go.

The girls just spilled applesauce all over the floor. I should have said, "No big deal". But I didn't. I wasn't very nice. I spoke louder than I needed to. I made them clean it up while I gave a mini-lecture on not walking around with food.

As you can see, my attitude is not always positive.

The following pictures are documenting my house today. (I am showing these with the understanding that no one calls DCFS.)

My bedroom. Notice the unmade bed and the dust on the cedar chest that my little darlings have drawn pictures in. Also take note of the bags of clothes on my bed that I bought because I don't have any in my closet that will button up.

This would be the dirt that mysteriously appeared on the window sill. What's the good of a bit of dirt if you can't write in it?

Another clean bedroom. . .Oh yeah, guess I didn't get those sheets washed.

Could this actually be a bedroom?

All the while I am feeling this way, I also realize how blessed I am. In fact, I should feel horrible for even daring to feel grouchy. I realize I have great kids, a beautiful, sweet new baby, a great husband, a nice home, and a terrific life in general. Just not a perfect one. And the older I get, the better I understand that it's okay to not be perfect. It's even okay for me to be grouchy and tired and overweight, and not feel guilty about it all.

Hopefully this will dispel any myths in my posterity that I always had a good attitude, that I was always happy, and that I always got everything done. Who actually does this anyway? I'm not sure of the last time all of those things occurred at the same time. Sometimes I wish that another mom would show up on my doorstep (but just not look inside), and tell me all this is normal. It may be a little sick, but for some reason, it always makes me feel better to hear about another mother's failures.

So, someday when my girls are up to their eyeballs with their own family in diapers, laundry, and hormones, I hope they will read this. I hope they will laugh a little and realize their life isn't quite so out of control after all. Then, hopefully they'll look around like I'm doing now, smile a bit, and realize that the fact that they have so many messes to clean up means they also have a lot of people to love, and who love them back. And then they'll go to that meeting.

Look at me. . .no more tubes!

Hi, it's me, Claire! Just checking in to let you see how smart I am. I went to see Dr. Brown yesterday. I knew I would knock his socks off when he saw how great I looked. Sure enough, he was pretty impressed. I'm weighing in at 9 lb., 9 oz. you know, looking healthy as a horse. And to top it all off, when they did my oxygen test, I aced it! I passed with flying colors, which is no surprise really. Yip, I'm a pretty smart baby. But, whew, all this growing is a lot of hard work. . .