Confessions of (reformed) clutterbug

Here's what I used to think:

We've had about six house showings in the last week and a half. That means that people I don't know are strolling through my house eyeing it up to see if they'd like to live in it. No pressure.
I always anticipated the day we might put our house on the market with excitement and dread. Dread, because I am a life-long clutterbug. I always have a pile of SOMETHING in most every room. Magazines that I plan to read. Mail I need to go through. Coupons to clip. Shoes. Clean laundry. Hairpins. Yesterday's earrings. You name it. 

Having people over always meant several hours straightening up. I keep my bathrooms clean, and we both work on the kitchen every day...but our living areas have always been just a little less than perfect. All in all, I'm ok with that. We have a toddler, so pristine will not be an option for a long while.

However, I have definitely discovered in the last three weeks that keeping a clean house is a lot easier than cleaning a house. I'm trying like heck to be less lazy and putting things where they belong as soon as I'm done with them. My post-college roommate would read this and say, "WHAT TOOK YOU SO LONG!?" My clutter-habits probably cost her a few night's sleep. I try to leave the house in about 20-minutes-til-ready each day. That's what I think it would take to get it ship-shape for a showing. It's sooo awesome to walk into a clean home each evening. I still need to work on actually FINDING a place for everything. That's my real challenge. But I surely am enjoying this keeping things clean thing.
Am I reformed? I hope so. I will never be a vacuum twice a day kind of girl, but it seems to take less time to keep the clutter at bay than it does to try to attack it every Saturday.

Now if only the laundry would magically load itself...

Mexican for Mother's Day

We were pulling out of church, full of encouragement and thoughts on friendship. Our sleepy little boy in the backseat, already saying, "All done." Um. We have a 30-minute ride, son. You'll have to get comfy. Being the one named Mommy, I got to pick the lunch spot. I opted for the very close and recently discovered Mexican dive near church, Miguel's. If you saw this place, you'd probably keep driving. It looks like it's attached to a sketchy motel by interstate. But their fajitas are fantastic. And they have an "A" rating.
There we are, and within 30 seconds of entering, Shepard knocks over the basket of tortilla chips. But within moments, we have a Mother's Day miracle! I show him for the 100th time how to drink from a straw (even though he has his own sippy cup, he really loves to play with straws). He takes the drink from me and promptly drinks through the straw! This endeavor is a leap away from last week's Sunday lunch that ended up in a full clothes-change in the Showmars bathroom. (For him, not me) Last week's sippy cup got left behind at the church, so we were trying to help him drink milk from a styrofoam cup. Milk-bath.
Fast-forward to Miguel's. I was so excited. I had started to worry that Shepard would be in his first day of college telling his classmates that the one distinguishing thing about him is that he never learned to drink from a straw.
 Our massive plates of fajitas came, as did Shepard's rice and grilled chicken. "RICE!" That kid loves some rice. As is usually the case, about half the rice makes it to his mouth, and the other half ends up in his lap and on the booster seat. We have at least graduated from the "everything on the floor" phase. As he started poaching the rice off my plate, and I had a teeny moment of "hold up! It's my Mother's Day lunch! Calm down little poacher!" Then I realized. I am his mommy. I am mothering him.  I helped him eat and drink (!), and I'll scoop all my rice to his plate so he can drop half of it. I will cheer him on when he tries the beans, even if he makes yucky face. I will take him outside and shake off his lunch in the bushes by the restaurant. I will carry him, draped over my shoulder in sleep, into the house after church and lunch and kiss his forehead and cover him up and pray for a good nap. I will hold him in my lap in his Elmo pajamas when I should be fixing my hair or doing the dishes...because he climbed up there and that's where he wants to be. I will tell him 298 times to sit on his bum and put him in time out despite his protestations. I will do all these over and over because one Mother's Day in the not-too-distant future, he will sit and eat something he ordered for himself and he will eat it all and ask for seconds and grow taller than I am. His long, lean body will get too long to sit in my lap, and his cartoons will turn into car shows or time alone in his room. I will tell him to sit on his bum because one day he'll be at a friend's house, and he'll need to set the example. I will always mother him to varying degrees, of course, but now I get the privilege of being hands-on. He still takes my kisses and runs to me at the end of a school-day. He still mostly fits in my lap. It takes four times longer to get ready in the morning because he still needs me. One day he'll brush his teeth and put on his own clothes. I constantly tell myself this or that phase will be over soon enough, but in truth, I'm not sure I want it to be. I'm very busy celebrating my "moments made of now."

Thank you, Shepard, for making me a Mommy. It's one of my favorite names.

Flashback Friday: Things I learned from my Mom

After my completely selfish post about Mother's Day, I thought perhaps I should follow up with something more substantial. I have such wonderful memories of my mom from when I was little all the way up until just this week. Of course, after 30 some-odd years of living, I can't get everything in one post, so we'll go with "greatest hits."
1. Speaking of hits. (yikes) Yes, I had a lying problem as a child. I've always been so very bad at it, and my Mom could always see right through my attempts. I would usually get a spanking for that offense, as my Mom needed to know that she could trust me. I was generally not a fan of these moments, but my Mom would always give me a number of spanks ahead of time. Almost every time, she would stop short of the last one, and tell me that she was showing me mercy and that I was free to go. I learned that we often deserve a harsher punishment or consequence, but that God, in His mercy, gives us reprieve. I also learned not to lie.
2. I learned to guard my heart. Not every silly boy who showed up at my door deserved my heart and my affections. While I might have crushed hard on a few boys, I did not have to suffer heartbreak after heartbreak because I entered into relationships with some common sense. When I did get heartbroken, Mom was always there to hug me and to talk, and most importantly pray with me.
3. I learned to be girlie and tough. One of the things I love most about my mom is that she has more jewelry than anyone I've ever met, and could open her own shop with her inventory...BUT, she also has her own toolbox and has been known to turn some wood from an old piano into a rockin' headboard with her saw and nails. She can dress to the nines and install a sink. She taught me both the value of celebrating the feminine, and the strength of doing what needs to get done.
4. I learned to believe in myself and God's gifts in my life. From the time I can remember, my Mom has instilled in me that I could be anything and do anything God called me to do or be. Her favorite saying was, "Where there's a will there's a way." I never felt that anything I wanted to do was out of reach. I wasn't always successful, but that's part of learning and growing. I'm thankful my Mom...Dad were always there to cheer me on, cheer me up, and to believe in me.
5. She taught me about the words to this hymn: "What a friend we have in Jesus...all our sins and griefs to bear. What a privilege to carry everything to God in prayer."

(click here to hear my fave version of that song)

 I love you, Mom. Happy Mother's Day. And I'm sorry that I just mailed your card this morning. ;)

And...I really need some copies of pictures when you were rockin' your seventies and eighties clothes. 

Flashback Friday: Why you should use a light when you tinkle in the night

We all have those "hall of fame" flashbacks that we end up telling a group or that, upon remembering, makes you laugh and laugh. Why not put some down as a memoir? {I tried in my head to mash-up the words memoir and blog, but it won't work. Blogmoir and Memog don't have a good ring. I'll keep working on it while you read.}
My sweet husband has a bathroom habit that I find odd. Don't worry, I'm not about to tell you too much. I promise. It's just that he goes to the bathroom in complete dark in the middle of the night. We won't even go into the aiming part, since I can't really speak to that; but seriously, I have a phobia about there being some kind of creature in the toilet in the middle of the night. Nevermind that I've never had that happen, but I've read enough stories like THIS to force me into using some sort of  night-light, full light or flashlight when I hear the call of nature in the night. I just googled "snake in the toilet" and the pictures are too frightening to even put on the blog. It may be urban legend, but the mere idea is enough to make my blood run cold (ha).
That was quite the set-up, wasn't it?
One evening, Jerod was at his parents' home in Greenville...home from college. He was watching some late-night TV and had seen this commercial: (it's only 30 seconds)


With the penguin's "Do be do be dooooo" fresh in his mind, he determined that nature was calling and made the short trek down the hall. He had himself ready to go and sang the "do be do be do" out loud in the very-dark bathroom. When, all of a sudden, he heard the singing reply from directly in front of him, "Doo doo doo doo-dooooo."
What happened next was a flurry of long-limbs, shower curtains, door frames and hallway-spilling.
(insert fun, muffled grunts and falling noises here, and feel free to imagine my nearly 7-foot tall husband going down in a frightened heap)
Jerod's mom has the same habit of using the restroom in the dark.
She was sitting there, minding her own business, when she almost got tinkled on.
And that, my friends, is reason enough to use a light when you tinkle in the night.

Just a slice of life

I woke up with pink eye Saturday morning (joy). I'd never had it. But I definitely had it. One look in the mirror and I said, "I look like the creature from the blue lagoon."
Jerod: "you mean the black lagoon?"
Me: "Yeah, the black lagoon. The blue lagoon was a movie, wasn't it."
Jerod: "If you looked like the creature from the blue lagoon, you'd look like Brooke Shields..." the prospect made him smile.
Me: "Definitely not looking like Brooke Shields today. Sorry, honey."