Can we talk about toothpaste? Every night after the kids brush, I find smears of toothpaste in the sink and if I don’t wipe it up right then, which I’m almost always too weary to do, it becomes this Napalm like substance that has to be chiseled off on cleaning day while I sweat and mutter psuedo swears under my breath like, “fricken” and “crap” and “gol darn”. I love teeth, but I hate toothpaste. And you, Mr. Perler Bead man, what were you thinking? How much must you hate mothers to invent a craft for children that involves teeny pieces that need to be implanted using tweezers wielded with surgical-like precision? What did I ever do to you? Toothpaste and Perler Beads make me feel like a wretched, shrieking mother. I hate them (not a word we use). So, I’m sticking it to the man and refusing to buy either one of them anymore. We’re going back to the baking soda paste on a willow brush our ancestors were just fine with. And no more crafts that involve tweezers (tweezers!) or an iron (an iron!). Because you guys make me feel like a bad mom, and just forced two exclamation marks and I hate (not a word we use) exclamation marks. Toothpaste and Perler Beads make me feel like this:
Ok, they don’t actually make me feel like this, but seriously.
And while sometimes I feel good about what I do and say around here, like last night when the kids wasted yet another bottle of shampoo making a mess in the outside tub and instead of yelling, I just charged each of them one of their precious dollars to buy a new bottle, then sent three penitent kids off to brush their teeth (here we go again). Sometimes I see flashes of brilliance, but other times: toothpaste and perler beads (I’m not even going to capitalize it even though it’s a proper noun, so there).
And do you ever have one of those days/weeks/months when you feel just this low buzz of yuck far too often? I’m having one of those. And even though I do loath perler beads and toothpaste, it has little to do with them, really, and far more to do with the state of my heart and how I’m spending my time. God seems distant lately, and it’s entirely my fault. I’m being convicted of my need for an overhaul of my heart and body. Blame Jillian Michaels, whose book is fabulous and really making me think (more on that later). So even though I do feel a bit like this:
I know that there is Jesus who is waiting to cuddle me close and whisper sweet somethings into my ear and convince me to forget about perler beads and toothpaste and the zillion other things fighting for my time and attention. He’s waiting to make me feel like this:
I need rest. But I need this too:
To be held. (If I say to crap in his hand will that be taking the analogy too far?)
So, this is me, being real (tired, weary, frustrated, blessed, hopeful, energized, broken).