the cleaning can wait

I think.

I am trying to tell myself that, anyway.


I am trying to remember that the state of this house. this temporal, man-made, house doesn't define me. 


meeting the expectations I have on myself isn't where i find my identity. it's not in my weight, in my hair length, it's not in how many loads of laundry I can do, or the style of furniture i like, or the blogs i read, or my sewing machine, or the music i listen to. 


it's not even in my kids, or my husband (gasp! the thought...)...


i have a lot of work to do. 
or not do depending on how you look at it.