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I’m Nothing If Not Flexible

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Translation: I am nothing.

Not that this comes as a complete revelation to me. I am well aware that I’m the kind of person that craves routine and a schedule and needs time for quiet contemplation before shifting gears. Anyone who knows me well knows this about me, even if they love me too much to point it out. Not to worry, Friends: I am aware. Surprisingly, I think I’m pretty good in a time of actual crisis, but minor shifts in plans? Completely short circuits my brain.

So you will understand if I’m a little frazzled here in the midst of home renovations, even though I am thrilled to have them underway, and even if the results are very good. But still, when it goes from “We’ll get this started soon” to “The man will be over in fifteen minutes to pick up the tile samples”, and when you add to this that my husband called me with this notification from the airport on his way out of town for another semi-spur-of-the-moment business trip that would take him away from said renovations for the majority of the week, well, you can understand how I was beginning to clench up just a wee bit. And when the workman (who, not for nothing, speaks about as much English as I do Spanish) came by for the sample and on the way out the door said he’d begin demolition the following morning, was it so wrong for me to put him off for one extra day, considering I had to be at work the following morning? Nay, I say. Nay. And perhaps you’ll cringe along with me when it turns out that he will need to trail between the upstairs bathroom through the kitchen all the livelong day, thus preventing me from cleaning said kitchen, or really doing much else but keep the boy out of the way and occupied, during a week when this house desperately needed some attention. See, I’d frantically cleaned the upstairs, but I figured I’d clean the kitchen (including the unbelievably spotty floors) during our confinement. But no. Instead, I sat miserably in the living room, sure that our visitors were judging me very harshly for my sadly lacking housekeeping skills. Why would I care, you ask? I have no idea, but it was just humiliating.

For those of you who happen to have been in the same church service as I was on Sunday morning, is it any wonder why the message (from a visiting pastor, might I add, because our own would never do that on Mother’s Day!) was a like a very special, very pointed poke in my eyes? [For those of you who missed out, there was quite a bit of talk about a decent home being one where everything is in its place at all times, and what kind of woman leaves breakfast dishes in the sink past morning? Yikes. Happy Mother’s Day!]

And if you will kindly add to the mix a certain beautiful boy that has suddenly decided that he is running the show, for after all he is almost three (I mean, I don’t think this holds a special significance to him, but 4 out of 5 mothers-who-know have pointed to this as the root cause), you will have pretty much summed up last week.

So here we are, in the midst of a fresh new week. The new shower is almost finished, and the next phase in the Great Fix-Up is not slated to begin until the middle of next week. The next two jobs are in downstairs rooms, which should be more fun than a barrel of monkeys, and maybe–just maybe–I freaked out a little when it was suggested that we fill the couple of days respite with one of those jobs. Oh…let’s not, ok? And hey, I didn’t mean for it to be delayed a whole week, but I can’t say I’m all that sad about it, either.  

Y’all know me well enough to know that, instead of furiously scouring my floors today when I got home from work, I baked up a new quick bread? Oh yes. And I’m about to finish sewing up a quilt top. I may not have my priorities straight (and, seriously? Of that, I’m well aware), it does feel like some semblance of order has been restored.

I’ll let you know if it turns out that the time would’ve been better spent on those floors tomorrow after I’ve tasted the bread.


One response »

  1. Yep! Heard the not-Mother’s-Day message. Yep! Had dishes in the sink at that very moment and a very dusty living room. Notice the men weren’t amen-ing! They knew better. Oh well! No use cryin over spilt milk. (I probably had that on the kitchen table, too!)


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