The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly (and falling off a pedestal)

Girls afternoon after Grant bailed with Papa.

Enjoying this gorgeous afternoon.

OK. So, this is probably the earliest I've posted in months. Here's the deal... I'm posting this now and then I'm going "off the grid" for the rest of the afternoon. I have so much to do and I'm literally going to shut down the technology. My mind is running in warp speed about too many things right now!


This is going to be one of those rare entries where I spill the truth and don't worry about who is reading this cray stuff.

I'm not sure which side of the story to begin with - the good or the ugly. I'll start with the good. As I walked down the hall this morning in the preschool area, I was approached by someone that I'd seen before but didn't know their name or even where I'd seen them. (This is one of those major fear factors for me. Am I supposed to know them? Are they going to be offended that I don't know them? Are they here to take me away)? Anyway, the lady introduced herself, thankfully, and said that a friend of hers had passed on the link for "my" blog. The moment she said that, my defenses went up and my mind started doing double time trying to fill in the blanks before this lady went in for the kill! Luckily, she didn't strike - at least not in a way that she perceived as negative. She kept talking and told me that she was part of a MOPS group (Mothers of Preschoolers - I think - maybe it's changed and now it's Monsters Offering Poison Society). She started talking about how awed she was about what I'd "been through" and the courage and faithfulness I'd had to continue the walk. Under my breath, I was stifling some mind blowing laughter. Then, she went in for the kill. "We'd love to have you as our guest speaker. You have so much you could share with other women." Um, yeah. Let me see. I could teach you and your friends how to guard your heart so it doesn't get wounded, bribe your children with candy to get their chores done, sweep dirt under a rug (literally and figuratively), and have a food fight. Not many church organizations are going to sign up for that lecture. Anyway, I stood there quietly with Annie swinging from my arm and wiping snot down my skirt and just gave the dumb "I'm humoring you because this is hilarious" smile. She continued giving me logistical details even though I'd tuned out. She handed me a card and scrawled some dates across the back and disappeared down the corridor. I was left standing there like an amusement ride that had stalled. Annie was still swinging back and forth and had snot trails running down her face but I just laughed.

Who do you folks really think I am? I realize that I guard my heart with concertina wire and grenades. I'm quite aware of this. It's called a safety mechanism. It's a learned and nearly perfected skill. There are very few folks that make it though the booby traps (maybe not the best term here but...) and see who I really am. In fact, in the last five years, heck, probably ten years, I've let one person know the real dirt that I think and feel. I am NO saint. You should hear the things I think! If my brain were removed (yeah, I know, what brain?), it would be stained with the remnants of sewer-like thoughts. Truthfully, my heart has the same sorts of stains. I can play the game with the best of actors. I know when to engage the filters and pretend like everything is rosy. I know how to smile instead of itch slapping someone (see, I even know what that means without the B). I know how to write emails and texts with wretched thoughts (and words) and then wait to send them in hopes that I'll come to my senses. Why would anyone elevate me to such a level? Do I play the game that well? Let me give you an example from today...

So, I dropped the big kids off at "The Warehouse" for 8:00 Sunday school. Grant was still ticked off and grumbling. If my memory serves me correctly, I believe I called after him, "Have a good time, Eeyore!" Then, I went to drop Annie off at her class and hunt down the class that I'd chosen to try for the 8:00 hour. It was a singles class. I don't fit in anywhere else. Sitting in a group of married folks is sort of like pouring salt into an open wound. Even the women's groups are full of married ladies that talk about their husbands and what's going on at home. Honestly, I guess I don't see myself as a single person. In my mind, a single person is someone who's never been married, doesn't have any kids, and only has to take care of their self. Alas, I figured I that I'd try a random singles class. I said that already. I snuck in and sat up against the wall in hopes that someone wouldn't do the visitor hurrah and bring attention to me. No deal. Didn't work that way. Don't get me wrong. These folks had the best intentions and they had no idea that I'm not very well socialized and detest being called out in new situations. So much for that. As I sat there, I started to look around and realized that the majority of these "singles" were more like single-citizens. They were all much older than I am. Granted, I don't place a lot of importance on age but I was afraid that if some of these folks got too wound up that their pace makers might explode. Then, there was the guy in the front row. He kept looking back at me. Then, he'd look to the other side. Then, he'd look back toward the teacher. He kept doing this. He was making me paranoid! I checked to make sure my skirt wasn't jacked up and my business creeping out... nope. I checked for rogue boogers... nope. I checked to make sure my blouse hadn't lost a button or something... nope. The only conclusion that I could figure out was that he thought aliens were coming to get him and he kept scanning the room for warning signs. See? These are the ugly thoughts that bounce in my head. Why couldn't I have had a little grace and said, "Maybe he has some disorder and is like and owl that can spin his head around?" Ok. That wasn't much better. So much for grace. However, I wish I could tell you that the alien watcher was the worst of my morning. Nope. Before I tell you the next part of this, I want you to think about what a single serve cup of red Jello looks like. It jiggles. It wiggles. It's squished into a little cup. Well, for some reason, there is one lady who simply rubs me the wrong way. She probably doesn't even know my name despite the fact that we went to high school together. I just don't like her tone of voice, conceited attitude, or what I deem as "fake" attitude. (See, this is what was bouncing in my mind during CHURCH)! Anyway, I've had very little interaction with this "lady" except for a brief encounter a few weeks back. She wasn't even talking to me! She was simply interrupting a conversation that I was having and deemed quite important. (It was of a medical nature). Anyway, long after I'd cozied up to the back wall trying to hide in Sunday school, this lady walked in wearing a bright red Speedo-ish dress. (See, I told you to think about red Jello). Now, some ladies' shapes can be defined in terms of curves. Um, this lady... well... geographically speaking, I'd use terminology such as mountains and valleys and the Speedo dress showed every single asset like a topographical map! It was like Spanx without the dress over it. Heck, I'm not even going to begin to say that I've got some sort of body to that belongs on a front cover magazine unless you're talking about MooMoos for Moms. But, really? It was like her body was eating that dress from the inside out! (I'm praying that the only person in this world that knows who I'm talking about is the person that I was conversing with that night. If not, I'm going to have some apologizes to make). Why am I telling you this? To prove to you that I am not some saint on a pedestal. My butt got knocked off the pedestal I thought I was on quite a while back. Now, I'm content to sit and laugh at those that try and clamber to the top of that pedestal and live there. OK. Maybe I don't stay in a perpetual state of laughter at those scaling their way to the top. I do momentarily feel sorry for them.

OK. There you have the good and the evil. So, it is quite laughable that someone would want to use me as a "testimony." But, I'll admit that as I've been typing this, that Jiminy Cricket part of me has reminded me of a favorite book by Patsy Claimont, "God Uses Cracked Pots." Seriously? Cracked pots, maybe. Busted and shattered, I'm not sure about. Anyway, I didn't throw the MOPS card away. It's still tucked into my purse between Kleenexes where I finally wiped Annie's nose (probably nice and hard by now and can safely be removed without fear of smearage). The funny thing is that this "encounter" came just a few days after I got an email from someone that does character education presentations for elementary school. They were asking for help in designing some new material. Two offers which would push me so far out of my comfort zone that I'd be in a severe NO FLY ZONE in less than a week. What am I supposed to do? Go to the mattresses (and my knees).

Anyway, there's the scoop for the day. My goal is to turn all of the technology off, put the girls down for a nap, and get everything else done that I need to. Ha! That deserves a Ha Ha Ha! My brain is in warp speed but, hopefully, I can get myself into a position where I can at least break free to go back to church tonight for the tailgate party with the kids. If not, I guess they can take the sides off of the wagon and have their own wagon-gate party.

I can't really say, "Good night, all," but for now I'll say, "It’s all said and done, it’s real, and it’s been fun." ~ Green Day (Didn't see that one coming, did you)?