Whoppers.

Kate has developed a new habit. It’s called making crap up. The girl will tell a story when the truth would sound better.

It’s not about serious things… she doesn’t lie to try to get out of being in trouble (most of the time). Generally speaking, it’s stuff of zero consequence, and a lot of times it seems like she does it in an effort to justify her decisions or actions.

My initial reaction to this was to demand that she admit what she was saying wasn’t true, but as I continued to think about it, I wondered if it wasn’t some sort of developmental thing and maybe I was being too hard on her.

So, whaddya think? Are tall tales something to nip in the bud or are they a sign of budding creativity?

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Time Waits for No Mom

I feel a little bit like I’ve been hit by a truck.  Only instead of convalescing in a hospital room nursing my wounds, I just have to get up and walk around with two broken legs.

Ergh.  I’m so tired I can’t even metaphorize.

Every mom is a full-time mom, and there’s never any paid vacation or sick leave.  Or bereavement time.

So 6 hours after your grandfather dies, when your daughter wakes up screaming in the middle of the night constipated, you WILL have to sit with her for an hour until she gets it worked out.  You WILL have thoughts like, “What the crap?  My grandpa just died and now I am going to have to dig a turd out of my child’s butt!”  (Thankfully it didn’t come to that.  But for awhile it looked it was going to be that or the ER.)

And now, the day after a meaningful but exhausting funeral and burial, it seemed so wrong to have to open my eyes and get out of bed to get Sophie ready for school.  After dropping her off, I have to get to Kroger, because we’re still out of bananas and bread and drinks for Joshua’s lunch.  And crackers.  We must have crackers.  Sophie’s lust for crackers won’t wait for me to recover, either.

So life is moving on.  But I’m so tired.  Could someone freeze time for another few hours so I can catch up?

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Crumbs under my coffee table

Wednesday night Emily and I had an interview with a local tv station (it won’t air for a few weeks. So, try and hold your overwhelming excitement!)  We had the interview at my house because they wanted to see my fabulous new Granite Transformations kitchen.  I REALLY did not want to do the interview at my house, as few things stress me out more than house cleaning.  But, I sucked it up, and spent most of the week cleaning, and Wednesday, my house (the lower floor anyway) was looking pretty nice.  (Of course it looked like crap again by Thursday at noon.  Arrrgh!!)

After Emily and I were each interviewed, the reporter wanted to get some background shots of us just hanging out, chatting, using our laptops (which was not. awkward. AT ALL!)  They wanted us to sit on my couch, but to get a good angle, they needed to move my couch a couple feet away from the wall.  Which meant moving my coffee table a couple feet as well.

My coffee table.  Which I had been too tired, worn out, etc. to move a few feet and sweep under when I was cleaning.

I knew this was not going to be pretty.  And sure enough, as we scooted the coffee table over a couple of feet, all the STUFF underneath it was revealed: cheerios, cracker crumbs, puzzle pieces (so THAT’S where those were!) and enough of Sophie’s plastic toy food to feed a family of four for a week.

It was *mildly* embarrassing.

But so totally indicative of my general state of being.

Because I always have crumbs under my coffee table.  I am hopelessly flawed.  Even when I take painstaking care with my outward appearance, what exists underneath is perfectly imperfect.  A few wavy hairs I didn’t quite get straight, that super-fuzzy section on my shinbone I can never get shaved, the stretch marks and cellulite that no shapewear can erase.

And then, there’s the inside.  The woman who is too quick to anger, who gets frustrated over the little things, whose first response to a stubbed toe or to bumping my head on the car for the thousandth time while buckling a kid in their car seat is a bad word (whether it actually makes it out of my mouth or not).

I will never be shiny or glossy.  If I appear that way, it is an illusion.

This post has been rumbling around my head since Wednesday night.  And then, at church last night the pastor preached on this verse.  About a great treasure inside a less-than-stellar vessel.  And I knew I had to write it.

Sometimes my weaknesses frustrate me, and there are many things that I do need to improve about myself.  (Especially my messiness.  Really, you cannot walk through my bedroom right now. I can’t find anything, and this is a problem I have created for myself!)

But there is also joy in the weaknesses, in the imperfections, in those areas of my life that allow others to see me.  Cracked, jacked up, janky, and real.  Something good inside packaging that has hit a few bumps on the way to it’s final destination, like that box you get in the mail that looks war-torn on the outside, but has a wonderful surprise within.

So. I have lots of crap under my coffee table.  What’s under yours?

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