I’m disorganized. And
possibly delusional.
There, I said it.
It’s out there. Most of you know this;
apparently I’m the only one for whom this is news. I like to pretend I’m all shooting from the
hip and laid back and go with the flow, but really I’m just shooting from the
hip and slowly going insane.
I think the false image of me as organized and together has
been floating around in my brain for awhile.
And every time I don’t live up to my false image of self, I feel
condemned. I like to pretend I’m a great
housewife. With regularity, Sloan has to
say, “Hey, do you think you could do some laundry so I could have some
undershirts? I have to wear that Pope
playing the guitar shirt today because there are no other clean shirts.” And he has had to say this so much he has
even learned how to ask it in a tone that doesn’t completely cause me to freak
the heck out.
I put pressure on myself to be this certain kind of Mom, wife, sister, friend. And I don't live up to it. Mainly because I'm too busy looking for my keys. I feel like such a failure; but being disorganized isn't sinful. Yelling "STOP FRIGGING ASKING ME ABOUT YOUR FRIGGING UNDERWEAR AND DO IT YOURSELF! I GET IT! I KNOW I'M A HORRIBLE WIFE AND I DON'T KNOW WHY YOU EVEN MARRIED ME BECAUSE I'M A FAT HOG!" at your dumbstruck husband who can't find any clean underwear is sinful.
(Not helpful when you married a man who doesn't play along with these delusions and responds to such tirades with comments like, "You also forgot to mention how I hate you and think you're ugly." Or, my personal favorite, "Oh, honey. I married you for your boobs, so we're good.")
The worst of my delusions pop up when I pack for vacation. Invariably, I pack for the person I’d like to
be, not the person I am. I arrive at the
beach with 8 sundresses, four pairs of 5 inch heels, 13 bangles, 14 pairs of
dangly earrings, 6 different necklaces, and lingerie. I end up spending the entire week pissed off
because I only brought one Tshirt and I have to wash it everyday so I can both
sleep in it and wear it to the beach.
(And we’ve already covered how I feel about doing laundry.) On our honeymoon, I had to find a department
store to by underwear for all of my flowy pastel colored sundresses, because,
you know, of course I had only packed black thongs. (Important note: Thongs are not made for riding on the back of
a moped. Or comfort. And, according to my husband, constantly
picking at your wedgie is NOT sexy. But
the department stores in Bermuda are really, really nice.)
So I'm list making. It's a struggle for me. It’s
so Type A. In fact, routines and
schedules make me itchy. But the inconvenient truth is I’m incapable of surviving well without them. So basically, I’m a toddler. A toddler who can read and write and wipe my
own butt. (Three very. Important.
Differences.) I really am disorganized
and it condemns me, but hey, I know how to use a pen and have post it notes, so
why not just litter my house with messages to myself? Email Heather. Wash a load of whites. Change the date on the FB event you created
because it clearly is wrong as you posted for something happening in 2010. Buy milk.
Clearly, the whole reading and writing thing is gonna have
to be enough for me. I just have to let
go of the myth of who I thought I was. I
may own 5 inch hot pink Kate Spade heels back from when I had a job and no
kids, but they’re not great for dragging a limp toddler across the Target
parking lot. High heels just don't fit who I really am.
Who I really am is a chick who sniffs her bra each morning
to see if I can sneak one more day of wear out of it. Who I am is a girl who has had to convince
her kids that cereal in a baggy is a special snacky breakfast treat because
apparently keeping milk on hand is outside of my skill set. Only in Elizabethtown will I be homecoming
queen and most likely to succeed. But
hey, I can still read, write, and wipe my own butt. And I do those things pretty darn well and
put me ahead of half the people in my immediate family.
4 comments:
Hell yes. That is who you are and that is why we love you!!
And also, I totally need to start sniffing my bra in the AM b/c sometimes I start to smell it midway through the day and I get really pissed off at myself.
Yes! I am married to a man who doesn't play along with those mind games either. He drives me mad with it sometimes!
As long as the kids are happy, healthy, and fed at the end of day--and as long as you're still standing--I'd call it a success.
Thanks for stopping by my blog. Looks like you have an interesting story...I look forward to reading more!
I aspire to be organized, but I just am not. At my house we are currently out of toilet paper, milk and drinking water. Darned non-potable Taiwanese tap water. Like you said, the disorganization isn't sinful, it's the self-condemnation and it's ugly cousin self-righteousness that are. Thank God the gospel also applies to running out of toilet paper. Praying for more gospel for both of us.
This is a great post. I think we'd do a whole lot better if we stopped setting the bar so high for ourselves. We really do a great job as moms. We just don't let ourselves see it, feel it, or believe it.
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