On a number of levels I used to be a Stepford Wife. We were those perfect, plastic people in church. The house was immaculate, the children were quiet... and I was miserable.
After sharing 1 bedroom with my children for 17 months, our new 3 bedroom apartment is still Disneyland. Most everything has been unpacked, art is on the walls. The kicker is, my sock drawer is a downright mess.
X's stint in the Army taught me how to military roll and press clothing, by nature I am a bit OCD and still fight the urge for perfection. But we live here. This is home. And while Better Homes & Gardens does their best to insinuate the pictures on their glossy pages are real, I know better. Home is a haven. A soft place to land. Not a sterile museum where things, or people, should be looked at but never touched, seen but never heard.
Sure there's a few piles that need to be put back into storage. I still crave organization, but for convenience. Every time I get dressed I am reminded that the little people in my home matter more. Than anything.
I've decided to mess up the sock drawer of my life. New and old friends, music, passions I closed off years ago. I'm not perfect, never really was. Difference is now, I don't want to be.
Even the sparrow has found a home, and the swallow a nest for herself, where she may have her young— a place near your altar, O Lord Almighty, my King and my God. (Psalm 84:3)
It's a Beautiful Disaster,