You know that place where you’re so behind in your laundry you still have last week’s piles sorted and waiting to be washed when you realize you need to do this week’s laundry? Then you realize there’s hardly any space in the laundry area to add the “new” clothes?

Yeah. You could say I’m there.

(You could probably also say I’ve seen one too many State Farm commercials lately.)

Anyway.

After Hannah Beth left on Thursday, the thought came to me that, Hey, maybe it’s time to stop pretending to be sixteen and remember that I have a house and children to take care of. Oh yeah.

I promptly sat down that night and made a list of all the things I need to get done before John gets home.

Whew.

There’s a lot to do. And not a lot of time to do it–a fact I’m only too happy to have to deal with. But still, there’s a lot of last-minute things to do. And those of you who remember the weeks before Merritt was born will know how I tend to get when I have a mile-long list of unreasonable expectations for myself.

My perfectionism comes out IN FULL FORCE.

Needless to say, in all my unbelievable excitement over John coming home soon, I started stressing out a just leetle bit. John even picked up on it over the phone and asked what the deal was.

“Uh, well, I’m so, so super duper very really crazy unbelievably unspeakably excited for you to come home. And so I made a list of everything I want done before then, and, weeeeell…”

“You want everything to be perfect, right?”

You’d think he knows me well or something.

Then he went on to tell me that HE doesn’t want everything perfect. HE doesn’t care. HE wants things to be normal around here. Comfortable. Lived in. Like he doesn’t have to be careful not to mess up our perfect life.

And THAT, my friends, is why I married this guy.

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