Let's begin. Brooks has been gone this week. He comes home today. Hallelujah. Woody has done a wonderful job reminding me that I am not his beloved "Dabby" all week. He had a total meltdown going to school on Tuesday, because Dabby wasn't taking him in his truck. We avoided a meltdown today, and I was going to reward myself with a trip to Target for some much needed necessities (sarcasm.) I was texting my friend, Jessica, in the parking lot when I got a reminder that I had a MOPs transition meeting in 10 minutes.
This morning- bed head and waffles in a bowl...on the floor...like a dog
For those of you that know Atlanta, I was in the Perimeter. The meeting was in Buckhead...where Woody goes to school....where I had JUST BEEN! And in rush hour, you aren't getting anywhere in ten minutes. I felt my face get so red, flustered because I knew I was going to be late. How did I forget? I was just there! I saw another mother going to the meeting! What have these children done to my brain!?
I hate being late. I use to never be late. I would make judgemental comments like, "When you are late, you are saying your time is more valuable than others." (Ugh, major eye roll at former self.) Now, I cannot tell you the last time I was on time. (Mother's Day Sunday? Sprinting into church.) Sometimes it is due to the fact that getting two boys dressed, shoes on, diaper bag with diapers, wipes, snacks, and cups ready only to get to the door and realize someone has a smelly diaper is not a five minute process. Sometimes it is due to the fact that I am 90% sure the lack of sleep for the past three years has gravely damaged my memory (Ask my poor teacher friends, once I had kids, they had to remind me of every meeting we had planned.) I fear that I am losing it at 28, so I have started brushing my teeth with my left hand because my mother says that prevents memory loss. (Don't ask.)
I make it to church. Only 15 minutes late at that point. Poor Gaines had fallen asleep in the car, and I yanked him out of his carseat as fast as a whip to shove him off to the church nursery (his favorite!....more sarcasm.) He wasn't exactly in his Sunday best, nor did I have a diaper bag for him. Luckily I found a wadded diaper in my purse and a half cup of milk. Have fun, Gaines!
Of course it was no big deal that I was late. Or that I had on an old t-shirt and my hair has not been washed in a
week while. No one seemed to notice or care. Why? Because we are so willing to give grace...except to ourselves. The things I say and think about myself are things I would never say about anyone else.
If you had asked me five years ago what a preschooler needs at a class party, I would have said, "Um like juice and cookies." (High five former self!) Now, I feel terrible guilt about just sending juice boxes and plates (that I typically buy the morning of the party.) Why didn't I make a themed snack for the end of the year party with themes beach buckets!?
I look at other women and think, "She looks amazing! She is so active and fit. Wow...she just ran a race...three months after giving birth!
Supermom Jessica- not only ran a race, but with both of her kids...and I really need to text her back
Me? "Gross Lindsey, invest in 16 cover-ups for a four day beach trip so absolutely no one sees what you are working with."
When I think of grace, I don't typically think of forgiving myself; showing myself grace. Excepting and loving myself as the person God made me, not what I want to make myself into being. Of course I will continue to strive to do remarkable things like be on time, make cute things for my kids, and exercise (these are all remarkable to me),