Lovely is the best word to describe my day. Spending time with a new old friend (you know who you are) who is as comfortable as a much loved quilt on a cold day and whose book reviews are always spot on. Toss in the fact that she’s ok with Kraft mac n’ cheese and didn’t even flinch when I mentioned tossing in some Smokey Links and it’s a match made in heaven. In this quest to be real, it’s good to be around people with whom I’m comfortable being just so.
The Kevins are growing like weeds. And smelling like dirty socks, but they’re still cute so it’s ok. We purchased thirteen planning on the kids loving a couple to death before too long, but the kids have proven to be savvy chick wranglers and the Kevins seem to be amazingly resilient. The Kevins and I are an odd couple, them so dirty and me so put off by dirt. And animals. And anything whose leg skin resembles a snake’s. Dan declares we have the cleanest chicken brooder in any developed country and I just keep chasing kids around the house with hand sanitizer. Every time I run the vacuum they crap all over the place, but I figure I’m just desensitizing them for the noise level of this family.
Peter asked me really sweetly to go hunt snakes with him this afternoon and I said with alarmingly little shame, “No. Thanks, buddy, but no. Not a chance. I will probably never want to hunt snakes. I hate them. I know we don’t say hate, but I do. Hate them. I’m sorry.” And with that run-on sentence, I officially lost my bid for mother of the year. Oh well. At least I don’t have to hunt snakes. It’s still been a lovely day.
Oh, and my confession is that I’ve checked my blog far too many times since posting on Saturday. Seriously far too many times. And I had to pray about it this morning and God had to remind me that it’s not about me. It’s not about people leaving comments that make me feel good about myself or that sing accolades to my writing style or savvy use of grammar. It’s about Jesus and being ok with not being perfect but just trying to be best jar of clay I can be, cracks and all. And getting all my good feelings from Jesus. Counting on Him to tell me how great I am. And how selfish. And how distracted. And so and so. So, this is me. Being real.