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).
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