My mother in law, Ramona and my Grandma Stewart~two incredible women who knew...
I was just reading the batch of comments from the latest posting of Seriously so blessed~which is THEE MOST SPOT-ON SATIRE DIRECTED AT THE CLICHE YOUNG PERFECTION SEEKING LATTER DAY SAINT WOMAN that I've ever read~pure genius~and I'm laughing my guts out as I rummage and hork down my kid's left over Easter candy, because I'm soooooo faaaarrrr from those years of competition with my fellow young mothers.
I don't know that I was ever even in the race.
Maybe I thought I was, but I was dressed in a pencil skirt and flip flops, doing finger stretches, while the REAL competitors warmed up their hamstrings in $1,000 worth of Nike gear. The gun shot went off, and I wandered away looking for kittens in the clouds.
So I was talking with Bitty, about perceptions. Seems the more we TRY to be identified in a certain way, the less likely we sincerely ARE that person. The people I know that are busy exuding a perfect life, are also the ones I work feverishly to avoid. Can't help but feel inferior. And I already have a mirror and scale for that~don't need to see it reflected in their lash extended eyeballs. And I'm sorry, but lip gloss has NO bidnis being on a mouth at 6:00 in the morning. That's where eye boogers belong...well, not on the MOUTH, but on the face, more specifically in the wrinkly corners of the eyes.
The people I kind of want to stalk~but clearly wouldn't, because it's ILLEGAL, folks...or if I did, at least I wouldn't mention it on a public blog...NO, I'd do it with great stealth and secret combinations~those people are the ones that have no idea how TRULY FANTASTIC they are.
I adore the woman who can pull-off shoving a giant pink flower haphazardly in her effortless up do (Bitty Boo.) I love to watch the mothers of a newborn who sincerely laugh when, after a quick taste, realize what they THOUGHT was mustard under their nails, is actually NOT MUSTARD (unidentified beautiful brunette at recent church service.) I worship greatly the women who consistently offer a fat armed hug and genuine smile, even without a recent bleaching and EVEN MORE SO, the ones WHO FREAKIN' OWN THEIR MOM JEAN/CAPRI STATUS! (pleated front, elastic waist and flat bum.)
I look up to the woman with soft cheeks, who smells of Dove and homemade bread (sister Nicki and Mom.) The one who wears spectator pumps with white linen (Grandma Stewart.) The one who is oblivious to the competition going on outside, and instead concentrates on the slow and steady progress in her own home (many, many wonderful women~too many to name.)
Those women already know who they are. They know what makes them happy. They know how to bring others comfort. They know that seasons change, that sorrow and joy ebb and flow, that the gift is in the journey, not in the race.
So back to those kittens in the clouds. I found them. And they were frolicking against my favorite sky blue background. So I painted a couple of rooms in my house the very same color, which brings me more thrill than any gold medal around a sweaty neck after a heated race EVER could. So I guess it's yet another lesson in enjoying the journey, and admiring the women of God who surround me daily.
If I could hang each one of them from a ribbon and clutch them against my bosom as a reminder of what I am aspiring to, I would.
Just need a hole puncher strong enough...