A Woman After My Own Heart

Lately I’ve been reading through the archives of a blog that I love but haven’t visited in a long time.  I’d forgotten just how much I love it, until I came across incredibly powerful articles like these:

The Secret of Discernment

Duty Before Holiness

The Seven Habits of People Who Place Radical Trust in God

And some honest, funny and wonderful statements she makes about herself and her home life:

I have a lot of experience with burnout. My odd combination of being an ambitious control freak with a powerful lazy streak and a huge resistance to change means that I was pretty much designed to get myself into situations where I feel overwhelmed and drowned in stress with no idea what to do next.

Winter is about to be the death of me; not the cold itself, but the getting the kids ready to go outside in the cold. For about nine months out of the year around here I can throw some shirts, shorts and sandals on the kids and we’re ready to go. Now each one of us needs coats, hats and socks (that’s 24 ADDITIONAL ACCESSORIES for our family of six). And the socks. Oh, the socks. It’s as if the entire concept is designed to test the limits of my sanity. The One-Sock-Sucking Black Hole is in full force in our house, and the quantity of socks that I buy seems to have no relation whatsoever to the quantity of socks available for wear

I say again: This is why I don’t have a lifestyle blog. Other women have pictures of children frolicking in sun-kissed fields of lush grass, creating delicate crafts, baking nutritious and delicious concoctions…my pictures would be of scorpions in cups, rivulets of Raid raining down from my back porch, and children running around holding BugZookas filled with crushed yellowjackets, all with glimpses of me cowering in some corner in the background.

I had one of those moment where I forgot that social awkwardness is one of my charisms when I thought I might try to make conversation with the iconographers in Spanish; they all speak some English, but most are originally from Mexico. Wouldn’t it be nice to try to chat with them in their native tongue rather than having them speak English? I thought (my guardian angel shouting, “No! Don’t do it!” over my shoulder, as he does any time I try to interact with other humans.) Long story short, there was a bit of an awkward moment after I told them that I have a relative who is a monkey at Mt. Angel Abbey (confusing monje, monk, for mono, monkey).

I am not a naturally tidy person. To put it bluntly: I’m kind of a slob. It’s hard to say whether this is due more to my laziness or to my lack of attention to detail, but I’m the type of person who can step over piles of dirty laundry without noticing them, who forgets to sweep the kitchen floor until there’s an audible crunch when I walk across it.

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Indeed, she is a woman after my own heart.

Check out more from Jen at Conversion Diary

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