Disclaimer: wordy post. But there are pics at the bottom!
I work hard at not beating myself up over things that are, in the end, inconsequential. My kitchen floors are dotted and smeared with whatever my child has eaten that day - oh well. There are wads of dust in my laundry room that are so big it is not fair to call them dust bunnies. Bunnies are cute. These are more like dust bunniculas. I’m okay with that. My dead christmas tree is still up, as are my wilting wreaths. But I shall not, no I will NOT, beat myself up for it. My plate is really full and so the list of things that "make the cut" in terms of what causes me stress is always being paired down.
Healthy thinking, right? Sure. This past Monday, however, healthy thinking may have turned into what must have looked like either total neglect, or a whole lotta crazy. Allow me to explain.
Monday was, well, not my best day. Nothing major happened. I just struggle with Mondays, particularly Mondays after holidays, when all of life's responsibilities land back at your front door in a "ready or not here I come" fashion. Wait, didn't I just say I don't let these things stress me out? So maybe I'm not as well adjusted as I thought. Anyways, it was not my best day and my sweet hubby called to check on me and I just cried and spit out some inarticulate explanation about not being ready to "tackle life" quite yet. Determined to not sit and wallow I decided that a brisk walk downtown is just what we needed. So I put on some highwater yoga pants (I'm 5'11'', give me a break) and a fleece that has a fair amount of dog hair stuck to it and headed out. Between walking out the front door and returning home we ran into my good friend Kelly and her three kids (delightful), our precious new neighbors who we are just beginning to build a relationship with, and at least seven Mt. Airy high school cross country runners.
Running into this many people you know is not uncommon in a small town, and is only noteworthy because of what I saw in the mirror when I got home, when it became evident that I had not looked at myself since my momentary cry-fest. Yep, you guessed it. Rivers of black mascara (as if I wear that much!!) ran clear down my cheeks to the corners of my mouth. And if that wasn't enough, I had failed to take out my fancy pearl earrings. Not like "preppy girl I wear pearls even when I'm cleaning the bathtub" earrings - I mean really dangly with these black crystally things.
Ya'll!!!!!!! In grad school they train us to take note of people who look like I looked - mismatched clothes, messy hair, mascara rivers, fancy jewelry paired with ill-fitting workout clothes!! I think the word we use on our little scale of personal appearance is "unkept." Sheesh. After I laughed at my ode to Desperately Seeking Susan, I successfully moved on...
...and developed a new appreciation for the fact that my 14-month old has no concern for how well-kept or well-groomed I am. In her sweet, hazel eyes I am still the one...still the one that tickles her belly, and gives her milk, and changes her diaper, and steams her brocolli, and kisses her cheeks, and rocks her when she wakes up from teething, and is just her momma. In Harper there is no condemnation. Thank you, Jesus, for that.
And because it's Wednesday and mascara has stayed in place all day, let's take another look at that doodlebug:
in awe of the snow!
her first sledding experience (which was more like us dragging her on the asphalt):
Family xmas pic, take 7.