The Good, the Bad, & the Dusty

Talking with my sister, Terresa, the other day sparked a question in my mind. How many of us write about the underbelly of our lives? the real stuff? the bad stuff? the embarrassing stuff?

Terresa is brave that way. She has written about stretch marks, hemorrhoids, screaming children, losing her temper, and diarrhea. Not me. Nope. I write about the good while avoiding the negative at all costs. I see and hear so many sad things at school I’m usually compelled to put forth good things into the blogging world. Who would want to know about my imperfections anyway? I don’t even want to know about my imperfections. Besides, who really cares? No offense to my sis, but who would it benefit?

Terresa and I both agreed that most people just put positive things on their blogs and Facebook. Most of us only show the happy side. Who likes a grump or a nag? We don’t air our dirty laundry about our spouses or church callings or homes in writing. I never thought myself brave enough to venture into this darker territory, but turning 40 in June is inspiring me to try all kinds of new things, except skydiving. Here it goes.

My kids aren’t perfect. They fight and cry and make mistakes. I think they’re smart little buggers, but sometimes they drive me nuts.

My marriage isn’t perfect. It’s better than any relationship I’ve ever been in, but it’s not perfect. I don’t expect perfect. We’re not perfect people. I’m okay with that and working on being a better person for my husband and marriage.

I’m not perfect. I yell about once a day---at my students or my kids or both. I’m really not much of a yeller, but I expect to be heard. I only raise my voice when I need to. At times I struggle with being one of the shortest and smallest people in my classroom and in my home and wish I were 6 feet tall so that I could use height as an intimidation factor. I also admit that cuss words have escaped out of my mouth once or twice at home. Not the end of the world, (ye without sin cast the first stone) but I’m working on it.

My body is not perfect. I’ve got stretch marks, wrinkles, cellulite, and I still break out in zits! I can hide most of it with clothes thankfully, but the wrinkles and zits on my face are visible. Oh well. I hate makeup. So is life.

My hair is not perfect. Tiffany, who cuts my hair, is so good she makes me look good! My hair is colored with a washout color once every six months so that the 30+ white hairs around the crown of my head, inherited from my Grandma Hall, are hidden. Most people don’t notice my hair is colored, unless I have Tiffany throw in more red or something, she’s that good.

My methods aren’t perfect, but they work for me. Have I mentioned that I’m a bit of a control freak? That makes for a good teacher, but a difficult housekeeper. My dishes are washed every night and put away every morning. (I have a system to my dishwasher, thanks to the Fly Lady. Poor Steve thought I was nuts when he first saw it, but it works.) I hate a dirty kitchen, counter tops or table. Gross! I also don’t like clothes left on the bedroom floor. Yuck! Dirty toilets make me gag, but my shower needs a good scrub right now. I’ll tackle it later.

I’m not a perfect housekeeper. I hate sweeping and dusting. They are the bane of my existence. If I could afford it I would have someone come and just clean my floors and dust. My Mexican tile floors are often sandy and dog hair can often be found along the walls. (With 2 dogs that both shed, it’s bound to happen.) If I can muster up the strength (and interest) to sweep the tile and vacuum the carpets once a week, I feel successful. (I do, however, sweep my kitchen every night.) My bookshelves are lined with dust until I can bribe one of my boys to dust for me. My dresser and nightstand are dusty too and littered with books, papers, and CDs. I take comfort in the clutter, but the dust bunnies make me sneeze.

Well, (sigh), that’s about it. My dirty laundry has been aired. It feels good to share. I feel lighter! Braver! Feel free to unload your dirty laundry here. No judging will occur (at least from me!) After all, no one’s perfect.