My Personal Literature

 

Aldous Huxley said, "Your memories are your personal literature". What story am I telling myself today?

I am a story teller. I married a story teller. My daughters are both story tellers. TRUTH.

I like details. My stories can be long and full of colorful details. My husband is an embellisher. He spices his stories up and giggles and laughs and carries on like mad when he tells and/or recounts a story. My daughters require your full attention and if you even think about interrupting when they are telling a story...well. Beware. It will not be taken kindly. My eldest will happily begin again. And begin again, AGAIN, if you keep making her stop.

It can be a battle around the dinner table with each one of us vying for the spotlight. Typically I try to referee. Mostly, I just intervene before there is a physical altercation between the sisters as they try to make sure they are "FIRST" to tell about their day's events.

Want to come over for dinner tonight?

What am I telling myself today? Well for starters I am telling myself that all the dust and noise that is weaving its way through my home is completely temporary. I am reminding myself that my new Master bath will be so awesome that this minor inconvenience is so worth it. I feel like this story is a big fat lie but I am going to sell it to me. I know the remodeled bathroom WILL be fab but I don't know how I will manage the feelings of chaos while it gets to the magical ending. In the big scheme of life this is but a footnote, but today it is all encompassing. I am so drama. I know.

I had a moment this morning. I saw my angry child smile a real smile. She spoke to me without that customary TONE. It made me hopeful. So much so that after I dropped her off at school, I came home and prayed. I sat in my red velvet chair, by the front window, and I prayed. I asked my God to take over. I said that I had been trying to do things my way, with no guidance from Him. I let Him know that I was coming to Him full of surrender and that no matter what the rest of my day threw at me, I would defer to His plan. I would accept His outcomes.

Taking this time to sit in my faith really grounded me.

Then the construction crew showed up. And my husband called to tell me that the neighbor heard my kids screaming at each other yesterday and he misinterpreted it to be one kid screaming at me and he said If I needed help anytime I could go get him....he has been through it with his own kids...blah de blah...

I remained calm. On both accounts. I showed the workers the layer of drywall dust ALL OVERMY BEDROOM, and I demonstrated the technique of applying visquine ACROSS EVERYDOORWAY so that my stuff stays pristine. Then I kindly said to my husband that our neighbor, while honest in his offer of "help", actually misinterpreted what went on and how exactly did he see my "asking him for help" playing out? "Excuse me (neighbor I barely know), my kids are screaming at me...do you mind coming over and intervening on my behalf". I think my husband got my message. There was so much love in my heart...even if I didn't fully let it seep into my voice.  

Story telling is a blast. I am loving today's story.

I am Dani, I am a mom. With a husband. In the middle of a remodel. Scared to potty in my own home and afraid to shower because now we are down to ONE bathroom and it is sharing a wall with the Master that is being demoed and I am a wreck. My girls have ratcheted up the volume of their arguments to the point that the neighbors are telling my husband AT THE GYM no less. My story is a great one.

I need a good cry.

I just looked out my office window and my bathtub is being carted out and put into the debris bin parked in front of my home. My kid's dog is barking pretty much non-stop and I feel like I may hurl. One tile guy is standing on the sidewalk doing what??? What is he doing? Nada. Zippo. Nothing.

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