I think I saw on Facebook or on a blog or in an article or something somewhere about someone lamenting that people don’t tell the truth online. That lives are depicted as rosy perfect when, in reality, things are often messy (sometimes a happy mess, yes, but messy nonetheless).
This is just one of the piles in my house. And note that this is the right side of the desk. The left side isn’t pictured. (Also, I think it’s funny that the blue pamphlet sticking out, the one about needing an oil change, says OVERDUE in bold.)
I have piles of folded clothes and unfolded clothes all over my bedroom.
I (finally!) found a corner TV stand on Craigslist. It’s in a pile of pieces, in the basement, waiting its next coat of paint. As such, our TV is on the floor in our living room and our window seat is covered in piles of DVDs, cords, players, speakers and whatnot. (Turns out I should have held onto our old TV stand a little longer before selling it.)
There are piles of train tracks in the boys’ room.
There are piles of dolls in Sophie’s room.
The playroom is pretty much a big pile of stuff in and of itself.
I have piles of freelance work to do.
I have piles of picture book queries to send out (thanks to the piles of rejections I’ve received).
I have piles of e-mails to respond to.
I have 21 saved voicemails on my cell phone and I’m pretty sure I saved them all simply because they needed something more from me.
I know, I know, I know. Playing with my kids is more important than a clean home. But I’m not talking about dust-free baseboards here. I’m talking about being able to walk through my bedroom without tripping.
So there you have it. My Wednesday morning truth.
I hope, at the very least, to be treading water soon.
Right now, someone stole a train from someone else and that someone else is screaming like a banshee, threatening with a plastic dinosaur.
Off I go.
“He was swimming in a sea of other people’s expectations. Men had drowned in seas like that.” —Robert Jordan