Today I joked with a friend that I should have named my blog "Woulda, Shoulda, Coulda" because I felt that my first four blog posts had taken on more negativity and sadness than what I wanted. I would love to tell you that I just don't do negative, but I do have my days!
One of my infamous roles in our house is the clutter Nazi. No, my kids didn't give me that name, and I'll thank you not to mention it to them. Anyway, very few things irk me so me much as when I've been at work and come home to a recently demolished living room, a sink full of crusty dishes, or a laundry room floor covered in dirty laundry.
I've been known to walk in the door, and the first words that come out of my mouth are, "Who left these shoes here? Whose glass is that sitting on the table? Do you guys think I'm just here to pick up after you?" No "hello." No "I love you." Instead, the first words that spill from my mouth are condemnation for what hasn't been done.
Have I told you that patience isn't really one of my virtues? It's not that I'm a neat freak; I'm a little messy myself. What I am is a responsibility freak. When my temper rises, my kids don't jump their feet to fix everything. (Keep in mind: this happens too often.) When I'm quick to anger, they just think I'm mean.
No matter how much I try to hand everything over to God, I have to admit that I need to accept that I have full control of my attitude. My attitude is a choice that I make every day—every minute—and regardless of my current circumstances, the moods of those around me, or even the cleanliness of my house, I need to keep it in check.
I'm convinced that my kids will forget that I'm a reluctant cook, and I'm pretty sure that they won't care that my garden is overrun with weeds. The memories my children and other people around me will keep are the feelings that I left with them: whether, on a daily basis, I made them feel valued or worthless.
Today seems like a good day to start.
