When I asked for a broom (as a prop, not for cleaning purposes), she told me she didn’t have one. To which her husband replied. Yes we do. Beside the fridge.
It was just like my house. But neater.
The other day I had some friends over unexpectedly and we had to make our way through dolls and toys and legos just to put our purses down. And I didn't even flinch.
Because they know me. It wasn't the first time they have seen laundry baskets in my living room, dog hair in the corners and dirty dishes in the sink. They know my mess. And came in anyways.
Most of my favorite friends don't require knocking, much less picking up first. Or makeup. Or even getting out of my pjs.
Sometimes me and another friend send pictures back and forth to see whose house is messier. And I shockingly, I don't always win.
Or some pictures of ourselves that would make me cry if they ever made it to facebook.
And for some reason.
The messy makes me like them even more.
Because.
Seeing someone’s mess, makes me feel better about my own.
(and that statement alone should tell you that I have issues!)
And I don’t mean so much my dirty laundry or my greasy hair.
But mostly my not so together cluttered heart.
I’m tired of hiding it. Of trying to pick up. Of not letting people in my car because they might never find their way through all the coffee cups and juice boxes.
Of showing them the picked up ready for company version of me.
Instead. Seeing someone’s mess. Means it is ok to show them mine.
The dirty dishes. The junk drawer. Those habits that I still can’t break. My questions. That I can sometimes be mean or jealous or insecure. Because what I’m afraid of most isn’t that telling you that I can’t remember the last time I changed my son’s sheets. Or that I haven’t plugged in the vaccum in over a month. That I actually prefer to wear dirty jeans. But that not only are my closets a mess, but that so is the rest of me.
And lets be honest.
Most of us are. Atleast parts of us.
So, show me yours and I’ll show you mine.
Comments
I'm committed to writing about mess this year; rather writing with authenticity. About my heart and ways I've failed. I don't do that well, but it's time to turn over a new leaf. But you, my friend, are great at it. Your honesty can take my breath away.
At least the dishes in the sink are really cute dishes.
But the real mess, the mess in my head and my heart where my questions outweigh any certainties, where my thoughts form puddles and crust over before I can get to them, that mess is hard for me to show. But it's there.
And at least your messy pictures are cute & colorful! ;)
I love you!
When I was mentoring a college gal as we came into the drive way for the first time I looked to her before I opened the garage door. I asked her if she was ready. I said "This here is real life." Then I opened the door.....
Hmmmm, that's the same thing I said to my sister before I revealed my stretch marks after baby #1......