greener grass

Sometimes it seems like everyone else’s life is better than mine. And by better I mean more organized, calmer, quieter, wealthier, less stressful, more passionate, healthier and easier. In other words - better.

I get tempted to believe that not only is the grass greener, but it’s also been recently mowed and doesn’t have dandelions popping up all over. It’s so easy to look in from the outside and convince myself that other people don’t have problems. They don’t have acne or clogged toilets or a complete set of fat jeans or even the trials and tragedies that life inevitably brings. In other words - they’re just not human.

I’m not sure if everyone is like this or not - but I tend to admire/be envious of people who are gifted in areas I struggle. Disciplined people. Organized people. Generous people. People who can maintain an exercise program. People with clean houses and non-smelly vans. People who can wake up on Saturday morning without a to-do list 10 miles long and be able to ask (seriously) “What should I do today?” Imagine.

And yet, I know no one has a perfect life. No one has a perfect marriage or perfect kids or the perfect amount in their bank account. No one escapes not having weeds sprout in their lawns or bare patches where neighbors dogs have marked their territory.

Life is life - and it’s not always green and pretty. A good friend of mine has been facing serious allergies, chronic fatigue and a thyroid condition. And she just found out that they have mold and water in their basement for the third time due to shoddy construction on their home. She’s plugging away, grateful for each day she has without pain, even if they are few and far between. Life isn’t greener for her right now. Unless you count the mold.

Another friend has had her family uprooted 700 miles from where she’s called home for 15 years. She is not a social person and her sarcasm is often misunderstood, but she’s trying to find the blessing in new surroundings, new people and a new climate. Life for her is dry and dusty with little grass in sight.

Unless you knew these two women well, you probably wouldn’t see the inner struggles they face on a daily basis. They might even seem to “have it together” because they are seldom found without a cheerful word or a joke or a heartfelt prayer for someone else. Which of course makes me all the more insecure and frustrated that I can’t be as fruitful in the midst of my weed patch.

Perhaps that’s the point of it - it’s not the color or the condition, but what you do with the grass you do have that matters. Because we’re human, it will probably look greener from the other side of the fence anyway.

confession #789

I am such a bad mom that my three-year-old actually fell asleep on the bathroom rug waiting to get his hinder wiped.

humble pie

There are some secrets I would rather not share. I keep them fantastically hidden from most everyone but my husband and children. They are things that would mortify me if people knew. They are things that would humiliate me so badly I'd have to leave the state.

And today, they were discovered.

So, in the spirit of learning humility - I'm going to take a real leap and share my deepest darkest skeletons with everyone else - no more secrets for me.

A dear friend came over today to clean my house. As if that wasn't mortifying enough, she warned me that she would be upset with me if I cleaned before she got here. (Boy, does she knows me.) Luckily, I avoided ticking her off because I simply didn't have the energy to do anything beyond making my bed and shutting my bedroom door. (But as you'll see later, even that didn't help.)

I was laying on the couch sick to my gut when she arrived, breezy and beautiful. What I wouldn't give to wear make-up again - can't even remember when I last put on some lipstick.

She asked what I wanted done. (I almost confessed that I'd really just like a fairy godmother to say bibbedy-bobbedy-boo. But that would have been rude.) So I swallowed the first piece of humble pie and pointed to the kitchen floor, in dire need of a scrubbing. She got right to work, while I cringed inside, wondering at how much food really was stuck underneath the bench where two piglets slobber their meals.

She finished the floor and started working on the dishes in the sink. (I think one pot had been soaking for four days - but it sometimes takes that long to get clean, doesn't it?) In the meantime, the kids started a brave plan to destroy any progress she made in the kitchen by getting all the lunch stuff out. After that mess was cleaned up she got back down under the table to sweep up the bread crumbs and whatever else got dropped.

I would have been content with all that, but she was determined to really make me learn a lesson today. "Laundry?" she asked. (I swore there was a gleam in her eye.) Um, no that's okay. She didn't buy it. (Who would in a house of four boys?)

I swallowed hard, led her upstairs to my bedroom, and opened the door to show her the eight loads of clean laundry piled on the floor, needing sorting and folding. Then I made a huge mistake. I entered the laundry room to check on the wash I had started this morning. The load in the dryer wasn't dry, so I put it going longer, shut the door and cringed at all the clothes I had to walk over just to get into the room and the smell of all the dirty dish towels (you know the smell, I know you do.)

She folded all the clothes upstairs, then called the boys in to help her identify what belonged to whom. And somehow she convinced the older two to put their things away - and I didn't hear any whining!

She then came down the stairs with a puzzled look on her face. "Where's your dryer?" (I tried to fake sleep - it didn't work.) "I'm not going to tell you," I insisted. But, she figured out how to get the boys to divulge family secrets.

By the time she was ready to leave, I was ready for a nap. I humbly thanked this angel who didn't seem to mind what the condition of my house was and went upstairs to nap with boy #4, only to find that she had scrubbed the bathroom floor, cleaned all the toothpaste off the mirror and the sink and neatly placed three baskets of folded laundry by my closet. And, she put a load of wash in the dryer and another one going in the washer. I hope she had her eyes closed when she was in that disaster area.

I fell asleep to the hum, squeak, hum of the dryer, the rumbling of the washing machine and the whooshes of the dishwasher going downstairs. Who says housework isn't tiring? As I was drifting to sleep, I suddenly remembered her parting words: "I'll be back!"

Aaah! So much for sleep...