Friday, June 01, 2007


A dear old friend of mine told me she just couldn't bring herself to read my blog. She left me with the impression that it intimidated her somehow, and I didn't understand.

I think I understand a little better now.

This morning, I visited a perfect blog written by a perfect and beautiful blogger with a perfect life. She posted gorgeous pictures of herself and her family. She wrote about her historic restored house, blissful homeschool experience, classic and impeccable taste in all things vintage. I swear I looked for just one post or picture with a hint of a tiny flaw, but there were none.

Was I somehow jealous? Maybe. Will I visit her blog again? No way, because I picked up a cruel measuring stick too long for myself while lurking there.

I realize now that my dear old friend must have found that same unkind ruler for herself on my blog. And though I wish I could, I cannot remove it from her hands.

So, today I wanted to mention that I bite my fingernails terribly. I take for granted those I love much too often. I must spray chicken poop from my sidewalk every single day. I have never cleaned the outside of my windows in the four years I've lived at my house. My seventeen year old van could never be clean or good looking again. There are weeds in my lovely garden. My children are not always well mannered and thoughtful. Homeschool is excruciating at times. I am hopeless with a budget. I not as domestic as I need to be. For example, up until today, one of my cabinets had a thick layer of goo where honey has perpectually dripped for years. And you should see what my daughter is wearing to the carpet store this afternoon- her blue Dorothy dress with white bear buttons, ruby red slippers with white socks (I talked her out of the purple and yellow ones), and a frazzled apron she cut herself from light green checked fabric. I spent at least five minutes convincing her to brush her hair, but it didn't really help tame her wild disarrayed mane. She's carrying a basket lined with a colorful Russian shawl with a stuffed dog on top.

My life is imperfect.


The Unusually Unusual Farmchick said...

Welcome to the club! I am far from the picture perfect. I cuss like a sailor when mad, hand comb my hair since the 4 hair brush's we own are invisible to me, weed the garden once they are 3 or 4 inches high, and throw my dirty clothes on the bedroom floor where they lay till I do laundry on -aghast- weekends to just end up in laundry baskets waiting to see if they might make it into my drawers...
See? No one blogs about the "momma said not to" stuff.
phew.. that was a nice purge. Hmm, i may do that more often!

truevyne said...

You get me, faults and all. Thanks for your encouragement.

unquenchableworshipper said... least your husband is nearly perfect..
well..except for crashing the van today... ugh

~m2~ said...

vyne girl, i get you too.

it is amazing how we all hold up that measuring stick when our lives, as imperfect as they are, are actually pretty good on the whole.

i started my own rant and then deleted it. it would take up too much space here :)

truevyne said...

Dear Pen,
You are a solidarity sister!

unquenchableworshipper said...

but are perfect in soooo many ways...

like just today, you were able to get all 6 penguins safely into their slots without a single one plummeting down the Red Slide of Doom!

not many people can claim that!

John said...

This is the same reason why I don't try to find out how well old friends (or worse, foes) are doing these days. I fear that I may not be able to compare.

slow to speak said...

your life/house/blog/kids/family/etc sound like a real good thing. I'm glad to know ye. And I am using my precious library internet to read your encouraging (if dripping with honey)blog site.

tonia said...


a hug from one crazy, imperfect gal to another. I so appreciate transparency and authenticity.