This past week our small family traveled to Waco because my husband has a conference for work. Zoe and I have a good time seeing the sites and eating at restaurants that we don’t have in the Valley. At one point, we were getting ready to go somewhere, and I had everything in the car, including my daughter…but I couldn’t find the keys. The doors were unlocked. It wasn’t an emergency, I just couldn’t find the keys. Full disclosure: I lose things on a regular basis. When I lose things, my actions are as follows: lose item, freak out, tell husband, freak out more, find item ten minutes later. I hate this about myself because I am always embarrassed when I find whatever it was that I assumed must have disintegrated into thin air just seconds earlier. Well, twenty minutes into looking for the keys and after two people had tried to help me find them, I sent a text to my husband. He told me that he was sure that I would find them, which is when I dramatically and emotionally responded, “I’m a perpetual mess.”
My home is a mess. And by “mess”, I mean cluttered. I don’t live in a pig pen, but I have never been the perfect housekeeper. I was this way before becoming a mom, and the trend has continued and possibly even intensified since becoming a mom. The problem with this is that even though I am not a good at keeping things pristine, I don’t like to live in a mess. I get so frustrated, but I don’t have the time/don’t want to give family time to straightening it up. In fact, as I sit here on my computer I have a stack of miscellaneous CD’s, books, receipts and notes stacked on the printer to my left. To my right, I have a few Kohl’s coupons and some used gift cards. And in my bedroom, because I traveled all summer long, it looks like someone took all of my clothes, piled them on the bed, and a tornado hit them sending them in a vortex around my room to land on every surface. This drives me crazy. I’m a perpetual mess.
My emotions are a mess. Two words: mom hormones. Now, to be fair, I have never been fabulous at controlling my emotions. I wish that I was one of those people that has the ability to maintain composure in every situation and think before they speak. Take my emotional personality and mix it with my mom hormones, and what you have now is a force that is pretty much unstoppable. Zoe was hospitalized when she was just shy of 3 months old. I made the hospital scene in “Terms of Endearment” look like a scene from a light-hearted children’s movie. Even every day things can turn me into a blubbering emotional mess, like those “Proud Sponsor of Moms” commercials or Zoe’s itty-bitty baby pictures. The waterworks start and in just seconds, there is a mess of mascara all over my face. I’m a perpetual mess.
My clothes are a mess. A week ago we went to Chili’s. Zoe is not easy to take out to eat. She took all of the sugar and artificial sweetener packets and poured water all over them. She insisted on dipping everything in ranch dressing and then wiping her hands all over me. I walked out of there with water all over my skirt and ranch dressing all over my shirt. Sometimes I go to put on a pair of jeans that were only worn a short time the day before and I realize there is food on them. Guess what? I wear them anyway, because they are the cleanest pair of pants I have that fit. My jeans and I are a perpetual mess.
My child is a mess. Oh, my Zobug. She is a toddler, and every toddler is a mess. Zoe is going through a screaming phase right now. The screaming sometimes is enough to make me lose my mind. I have a hard time focusing when she is screaming, especially when we are in public. But its not just the yelling: most of her messiness is usually a result of cheese. The girl loves cheese. Once she got so cheesy from mac and cheese, she almost couldn’t open her eyes. They were cheesed shut. She’s a perpetual mess, but she is the cutest mess ever.
I could list more aspects of my life that are a mess, but I think you get the picture. The point is that even though I don’t like being a perpetual mess, even though I don’t like that I am not the most tactful and careful person in the world, or even though I get self-conscious about the mess of my life and I’m worried that other people will see my mess, the fact is that we all have a mess. They are all different, but they are there. They may not be a physical mess or a mess that can be seen, but everyone has at least one. We aren’t in this mess alone.
As much as I dislike my mess, I love my mess. I love that I have a home even if it is a mess, it is where my family is. I love that my messy emotions are so intense because it comes from the fact that I care for people so deeply. I love my messy jeans; they were probably bought on sale and they fit. And you know I love my child, she is a mess; she is the most beautiful mess that has ever happened. I thank God every day for my beautiful, fabulous, perpetual mess.