One would think I must be a highly organized person and one would be slightly off-base. Once my short-term memory starts to go, I’m going to be in big trouble.
I have a hook near a door for my car keys, this usually works. Except when I forget to hang them.
My wallet? It’s usually where it belongs or in the pocket of the last pants I wore. I’m not a purse lady. I was barely a diaper-bag carrier type and a purse just seems like a big liability, hassle, and commitment to style. This ensures I’m limited to styles with pockets.
Even with my *ahem* system, the keys and wallet tend to wander off from time to time. It’s not the system, the system works when applied consistently, much like diet, exercise, and medication. Who knew? It’s crazy talk, I know.
Just before leaving for the Type-A Mom (yes, there is tremendous irony lurking about) I began searching the house for my wallet. An hour later, sweaty, nervous and late, I found it. Right where it belonged.
Life isn’t perfect, it’s not at all like the photos in glossy magazines or the artfully crafted sets and orchestrated conflict of television shows. People, especially women, are held to a ridiculous contrivance of standards, the house must be perfect, the kids must be well-mannered. No one has it together all the time, I don’t care how poised they look. Life is messy. Everyone has moments of imperfection and the Sunday Confessional is a chance for us to laugh at ourselves and you are welcome to join in.
Go ahead, leave a comment, anonymous if you’d like. We’re all human, it’s time to own it.