A New Skeleton in my Closet

I suppose that 6 days is entirely too long to spend writing and re-writing a single blog post. That's about how long I agonized over my feeble attempts to capture a 'snapshot' of  our family in a few descriptively humorous paragraphs but alas, it's just not coming together. It feels scattered. Generic. Sublimely lame. Effin-A!


Some months ago a good friend casually told me that I'm entirely too hard on myself. Frank agreed a little quicker than necessary adding that I want things to be perfect and if my grand schemes are not going along according to my plan you can bet that I'd abandon ship. So maybe that last part is no secret. 'Unfinished Projects' is my middle name. Meg Unfinished Projects Lowery. It has a nice ring to it don't you think?


I digress.


"Really?" I squeaked out, head to one side, confused, contorted look on my face. "But I loathe perfection! I adore things that are old and worn, a little askew,  full of character building flaws."


He retorted in the way I've become accustomed to, filtering through his memories for concrete examples but coming up empty handed, yet leaving me with that itchy little feeling inside that tells me he just might be on to something. Maybe it's the way in which he leaves me hanging, like a fish on a lure, that gets me reeling. His hook digging deeper and deeper.


I do have a hankering for things to be 'just so.' Even though my 'just so' is not everyone's definition of perfect maybe it's mine?


Shit. Just when I thought I had a pretty good handle on all of my little quirks and skeletons another one is tossed onto the pile for me to sort out and pick apart.

Smug bastard.

Once upon a time in that pile I discovered this tiny tendency to over analyze situations that really have no business being analyzed at all. It clamored around in my life for many years before I finally wrapped my arms around it and and tucked it away into a tidy little corner of my mind where it patiently waits to be called upon (unless it shoves its way into a situation and takes over without my consent which does happen from time to time but not nearly to the extent that is used to.) Given this new proposition it was high time for me to unleash the scrutinizing beast of a 'personality trait' and see what developed. We'd roll it around our tongues a bit. Try it on for size. Me and my 'trait' were going to over analyze the hell out of this blasé comment.


Dunking my Earl Grey tea bag repeatedly into a ceramic mug of hot water and I sifted through my own catalog of memories. I remembered the time I tevo'd Candice Olson of Devine Design to watch her whip up rich looking monochromatic custom silky drapes flanked by a gorgeous set of velvet panels; exactly what I needed in my front room! One trip to Home Fabrics, and $200 (a steal on all accounts) of luscious gold fabric later it was on like donkey kong! After several painstaking hours of shoving material through a temperamental sewing machine I ditched my version of the velvets, but only after sewing and objecting to all four panels, and hung the silkies, unfinished on two out of three picture windows. I hated my Devine Design wannabe curtains that left me feeling defeated. Seven months later I still curse under my breath when I pull back the silkies that didn't quite measure up, untrimmed threads poking out of the seams and unsewn hems barely reaching the floor where they should have been pooling. Yes, the old Pottery Barn tab tops that once took up residence in my front room still have a presence by way of a single sun-bleached red panel in a sea of monochromatic mayhem. Mocking me. Reminding me of my middle name. Maybe I do need to cut myself some slack. For crying out loud I'd let Candice Olson bring me close to tears!


Frank and friend = 1 Little Mrs Perfect = 0


I kicked my feet up, set down my tea and intertwined my fingers letting my hands rest on my middle; the soft, warm, squishy flesh that swaddled four little miracles asking for nothing in return and the exploited target of my harshest critiques. Before I step up on this soapbox I feel a disclaimer is necessary. By no means do I consider myself a fat ass. Most days I'm pretty proud of my size 6 frame even if it does come with a muffin top. And I have rationalized with a very clear mind that if I'm ever to regain the midsection I had four 'larger than average' children ago, I'm either going to have to get a portion of it surgically removed, or train for an Ironman full time only to find that even super fit skin looks like it needs to be ironed after carrying a 9 lb beauty named Emerson; neither of which i'm willing to do. That said, I have tormented myself over the crepe paper skin and extra fluff that moved in a few years ago and kicked out the sweet ass abs that used to live there. Even after two solid years of biweekly Pilate's visits I refuse to wear a two piece. But why? Isn't it enough that my body literally created and sustained life four times over allowing my skin to grow and cocoon my blossoming middle? It's a badge of honor that I should wear with pride! I was 'fearfully and wonderfully made' for Christ sakes how can I not just be satisfied with that?


Frank and friend = 2 Judgemental Nazi Critic = 0


As I sipped my tea, I let this new notion that 'maybe I should let myself of the hook a little' settle inside of me. I thought of the countless times I'd beaten myself up for yelling too harshly at my kids over something trivial, letting dishes pile up for too long, forgetting my reusable bags again at the grocery store, and staring at packaged Mother's Day gifts that still needed to be mailed even though May had long since passed. All worthy of an eye roll and possibly a four letter word. But none worthy of feeling like a mom, domesticated diva, environmentalist or doting daughter that just can't hack it. Since my glass is usually half full, perhaps I'm taking these instances and simply vowing to do better, be better, try harder rather than mean talking myself. How else could I have overlooked this propensity until now? Yet I'm unconvinced that that changes the outcome. It still feels not good enough and I've felt that a lot lately. Like the things I'm doing aren't good enough. Like maybe I'm not good enough.


Frank and friend = 3 Girl Who Seriously Needs to Cut Herself Some Slack = 0


Feeling inspired by two people I love who also happen to care enough about me to call me out, I decided to take a vow of self acceptance. I will make a sincere and conscious effort to not let my domestic undertakings get the best of me when I've bitten off more than I can chew. Mark my words those damn curtains haven't seen the last of me yet! Same goes for the effin' blog post! I will not allow myself to feel guilty or down trodden when my laundry takes a backseat or my kids spend too much time in front of the TV so I can squeeze out one more email. More importantly, I will embrace my body, mindful of and thankful for what it's allowed me to do. Especially the muffin top. I'm going to love it even when I don't like it because it's been the best, most loyal friend to me regardless of how I've treated it.


Last week I wore a bikini to the public pool for the first time in years and you know what, it felt pretty darn good.


Frank and friend = 4 Self loving woman = Infinity times a million


I win.