This up and down temperature swing is killing my decoration mojo.
I'm currently sitting at a table covered in papers and mail and a big pre-lit wreath I found on sale last year the day after Christmas. I've got a lamp that used to sit in the living room and a box on the counter full of Christmas towels and kitchen holiday paraphernalia. I had visions of decorating a room at a time, and primarily focusing on the living room this week, but life makes me want to come home and do nothing.
But clutter in my immediate living spaces makes my skin crawl.
As much as I love it, this time of year is exhausting for me. I feel like work becomes more about crowd control and meeting deadlines (in addition to our curriculum and responsibilities). I'm still having a hard time settling into a routine as each week's afternoon and evening obligations change. I have high plans of going and doing and visiting and checking in with those I love the most. . . and then reality calls and invites me to sit down with her on the recliner.
And I have no control over her sweet siren call.
I'd like to think that most of us are in the thick of it right now. That perhaps we aren't the only ones who just do our best to make it each and every single day. I keep telling my husband that I just need three days off in a row. I feel like if I could just hide in my house and make sense of things that I could be prepared to face whatever comes my way.
But, in honesty, I bet even three days wouldn't be enough. I would find myself so overwhelmed by the amount of work that must be done that I would fail to use my time wisely. I would have grandeur ideas of projects and activities and things I could squeeze in, and three days later find myself in a heap of disappointment and shame that I couldn't get it all done.
And the truth is, if push came to shove and the Imaginary Home Inspection Team came to visit, I could have everything together in 24 hours. It's not like what I'm dealing with is impossible, it's just not up to my standards. And maybe this month of reclaiming life is looking at the standards I set for myself and try to remember why on earth they are there in the first place.
No one is coming by my house with white gloves on (and if they are, I don't need that kind of negativity in my life. YOU DON'T KNOW MY LIFE!) No one is giving me a reward for being the most exhausted mommy who still manages to run that laundry like she likes it. No one is giving me any sort of prize for the many things I put myself through--not even myself.
Shouldn't that tell me something? That the bazillion rules and ideals I set for myself are not worth the weight I assign to them because no one but me notices evidence of completion?
I have a hard time figuring out where the fine line between apathy and reality belongs. There are things I must do, and then there are things I don't have (nor have the time) to do--no matter what my bossy pants brain says. There are standards, and then there is insanity. And I fight this struggle every single day.
But, I must keep reminding myself that my worth is not wrapped up in my home, but the people I share it with. My worth is not defined by the amount of inward turmoil, but by the amount of love and kindness I share. And my worth is not defined by the ability to keep all of the plates happily spinning in the air, but by the ability to let them all fall down around me (and not try to catch them) because I recognize His grace defines me.
And that is enough.