Honestly

I'm just gonna come right out with it and I know people are gonna eat this up...because we all just love imperfection. My room is a disaster. It's one of the many unfinished rooms in this house. No trim. Exposed wires. No organizational areas ie: shelving. The beast of all beasts. It's not a sweet little nook of a space I'd like it to be. It's more of an ongoing organizational project -- boxes of maternity clothes, boxes of outgrown kids clothes and bitty baby clothes I want to keep for reminiscing, a laundry basket full of where-the-heck-do-I-put-this random shit, craft paraphernalia galore. Anyway, I started cleaning it today. And it's not finished - by any means. But it's a start. I am thirty-something and most certainly, thirty-something-year-olds can have very clean bedrooms - and cook - and be really, really great moms - and wives - and take pictures - and write - and document their children's lives - and have friends - and read - and love. Love a lot.

I have that wonderful feeling...like I felt in college when I procrastinated for weeks on a twenty-page paper, saved it to the night before, stayed up all night to finish it and finally, twenty minutes before my class started, triumphantly hit "print". I finally hit *print*.