Dear Mama {in my Tupac voice}



My mother is one of the sweetest, most giving people I've ever known.  She gives without question, and she sometimes gives her very last.  I wish I were more like her that way.

We celebrated Father's Day with a very low-key barbecue (as in, I didn't put on makeup or mop my bathroom floor... #sorrynotsorry)  at my home with my dad, mom, and sister.  My mom and sister came and saw me elbow deep in food prep, and jumped right in.  On the real--I'm no domestic diva.  I like to have people over and have a great time, but hostess-ing wears me out quickly.  Naturally, I blame the introvert in me.  The heat and humidity may have also been a factor.

After everyone else finished dinner (and I sat down to eat, because I spent the duration of dinner looking for the baby's binky), Mom started cleaning up.  As she opened my kitchen sink cabinet, she commented on how organized it was. 

{insert record scratch}


I am a lot of things, y'all--but organized is not my middle name.  It takes a huge effort on my part to even pretend to be organized.  I'm in the middle of a massive, ongoing project to re-organize my entire house, room by room and drawer by drawer.  Chalk it up to nesting.  I just bought shelves to use in my basement storage room, which currently looks like a moving truck threw up all over it.  I haven't done a thing with that room since we moved into the house six years ago.  My sister in law (bless her heart) got a start on organizing the room, so at least we have a place for tools now.   My mom said the room "isn't that bad."

So... does making molehills into mountains count as a superpower?

This woman makes me feel like I can do anything.

In fact, my parents taught me that I can do anything, as long as I'm willing to work for it.  They have worked hard to succeed in life, despite adversity and dysfunction.  They have survived things I could never even fathom.

For me, getting out of bed is often a win.  There are plenty of days when I want to shrink and hide behind my dysfunction and insecurities.   Sometimes, even the easy stuff feels hard.  On those days, I ride the waves and maybe eat some ice cream.  And then tomorrow comes, and I'm ready to face the world, kick s'more butt, and do all the things.   

Maybe I kick my own butt with the stress I put on myself to do every day right. As if life is a race, and the person with the most medals or accomplishments wins.  Performance anxiety?  Why not. 

I don't know about you, but I could use a little more grace today (and yesterday, and all the tomorrows while we're talking).