Adventures in Imperfection

Tonight was a series of revealing my imperfections. Daniel had all the YL guys over to watch basketball so I was banished upstairs to the bedroom. Two of my girls wanted to hang out, so they joined me upstairs. Now I have to explain that typically guests are not allowed upstairs at our house. The reason being it is a disaster area. The guest room is not so bad minus some dust and the fact that its walls are adorned with pictureless picture frames. But the state of our bedroom and bathroom would gross out any visitors. I couldn't handle the embarrassment. Tonight I didn't have a choice due to our full house. So Claire and Katy entered the Temple of Doom where dirty laundry, dirty dishes, and a general funk awaited their arrival. I'm not exaggerating here, but will spare you the details. Whatever you're picturing...it's worse. Just imagine if you will the home of a hoarder in its beginning stages. I'm ashamed. I feel guilty every time I take a moment to acknowledge the situation and ponder my general failings as a housewife and as just a person in general. Claire's comment was, "How can you live like this? You're supposed to be adults." I gave her my thesis on adulthood being a process which one gradually enters into as they take on responsibility and slowly shed the hygiene habits of college fraternity living. (I do not use "fraternity" to imply that Daniel is the cause of our predicament. I will own this debacle and the state of the union of our sleeping quarters. I use the word rather to give an indication of our living conditions; remember your favorite fraternity house: half eaten food and drink mixed with discarded books and clothing, a place for everything, and nothing in its place.) St.Daniel had completed numerous loads of laundry today and dumped the clothes in need of folding onto the bed. So once we completed that task, there was a clear bed in which to lounge on at least.

We had the brilliant idea to bring the digital projector we use at YL upstairs to watch New Moon. But first I had to grab some frozen custard, so we made a quick field trip to Sheridan's. I began assembling our makeshift home theater consisting of the projector, Blu Ray player, and CD player for the speakers. It was a balancing act as the items sat in carefully crafted formation mounted upon stacks of books and a dirty bowl and plate. One of the speakers rested atop the dust-laden headboard providing surround sound. With all the excitement and activity my old friend IBS decided to join the festivities. Rumble, rumble, knock, knock. Who's there? IBS:)

Since I haven't told an embarrassing and thus hilarious story about this condition of my intestines, allow me to fill you in now. A by product of anxiety is a sensitive stomach. It was the worst in college as I wasn't willing to acknowledge the condition and thereby make any changes to prevent it. Now after a visit to my doctor and a conversation with my counselor, I am aware of what triggers it and can take precautions. However, when it occurs now its onset is always the result of positive stressors. For example tonight's occurrence was the result of dairy and sugar (i.e. frozen custard), lots of physical activity when running out to my car and up and down stairs during the home theater construction, and a general excitement about what is taking place. It happened to me my first night while traveling in Dallas too. We had just eaten a large meal, briskly walked a few blocks back to the hotel, and I was just really excited to be around friends from all over the country. A trusty formula for my colon is this: Food + Jovial Heart = Less than Jovial Visit to the Restroom.

So I had to pause in the midst of the excitement to remedy my issue. Our bedroom and bathroom are close quarters, so I made the girls turn the TV up really loud and ran the water in the sink. I'm so cool, so smooth, so lady like, so perfectly embarrassed.

I would love to keep everyone downstairs when it comes to their view of me. Tidy, orderly, smelling nice. But the reality is that my upstairs is a better reflection of who I actually am. Abnormally messy, chaotic, and sometimes a little smelly. What's funny, and why I probably am so open about all of this imperfection here, is that the more people see the chaos of my life, the more endeared they are to me. What is it about imperfection and honesty that is attractive to people? This seems so backwards though I know it to be true because I've experienced it over and over in my life. Isn't it most sensical that others would be drawn to the most attractive, smooth, put together, and accomplished among us? Maybe it's because most of us are nothing like that. We have our moments of cool and smoothness, but most of the time we are fumbling and far from a picture of cool. Imperfection can be funny. YL kids probably feel more at ease with an adult whose life looks nothing like an actual adult, someone they can laugh at, poke fun at. They can relate to that because it makes them realize that their imperfections are nothing compared to mine.

So I leave you tonight licking my wounds and counting my bruises after getting knocked off my pedestal. The views kind of nice down here. Entertaining to say the least. I'm sorry about the smell though; there's no excuse for that.