Pretty Much Done Isn’t Done

Pretty Much Done Isn't Done at 1

I’m not naming names. I’m not doing a Mom Vent.

I’m just using this example to make a point.

A point I need made in my own life.

A certain person living in my home was desperate for a black binder. Embarrassed that he/she (see how I’m not giving a single clue) didn’t have a black binder yet, more than a week into school.

Every other (in the whole wide world) student who needed a black binder for this particular purpose had one already.

So mama searched for one. She removed her own two-year-old Bible study notes (that she surely would go back over at some point, right?) and selflessly gave her own black binder to this person.

And told him/her to go put it in his/her backpack immediately. And declared (as she tends to do because of her love of all things dramatic) that she would no longer be held responsible for this person’s lack of a black binder. That her hands were washed of this particular parenting failure.

She imparted her Hard Earned Mom Wisdom and instructed the Black Binder Needer to place the desperately needed black binder in his backpack immediately so he wouldn’t forget it.

Oops. I mean, his/her backpack.

And guess what Mama found the next morning.

The black binder. Right next to the place where the backpack had been before the backpack and the person in desperate need of a black binder left the house.

Directions were pretty much followed, but not completely followed.

Which meant that when life happened, and the need to leave the house was immediate, like RIGHT NOW, the backpack was grabbed, but not the binder that was basically in the backpack, but not in the backpack.

Almost done wasn’t done at all after all.

Lest you think this is just a mama complaint session, I can make way too many parallels in my own life.

Like when I don’t go ahead and put dishes in the dishwasher instead of in the sink eighteen inches away.

Or when I throw ALL of the mail (which I’ve already looked through while walking back to the house) on the table instead of walking three more feet to discard the pieces I already know are junk.

Or when I pile up the barely worn clothes on the chair beside my bed (the chair that just needs to go away), thinking I’ll wear them again, even though I know (from way too much experience) they’ll morph into a wrinkly pile. Instead of walking to the closet and hanging them up.

And then life happens.

I’m exhausted at the end of the day and wish I could just start the dishwasher instead of also loading it with now-slimy dirty dishes from the sink. Or someone rings the doorbell and I’m embarrassed that the first thing they’ll see (if I let them in) is my messy dining room table. Or I need that blue blouse I know isn’t dirty, but might as well be dirty by the time I dig it out from the bottom of the pile.

So “thankful” for the three mirrors that live in my home. I call them my children.

Pretty Much Done Isn't Done at 2

But . . . I LOVE My Extras!!

But I LOVE my Extras!!! at

On Monday, I wrote a big ol’ post (seriously, it was long) about losing my keys and being reminded (for the ba-jillionth time) that having more of something does NOT make my life easier.

It doesn’t.

I know that.

I‘ve learned learn that lesson over and over.

But . . . I do love my extras.

As a not-so-fru-fru person who still understands that I look 1000x more put together if I wear earrings, I stick to my silver hoops. Like, every single day.

I almost always know where they are because I use them. (That’s one of the yay-for-me lessons from Monday’s post.)

But I don’t always always know where they are.

They get lost. They get pulled off from the ear I’m sleeping on for a Sunday afternoon nap. They bug me when I’m on the phone. They’re the victim of excessive expression when I’m telling a really great story.

So, over the years, I’ve had to buy a new pair here and there. Always silver. Always hoops.

While I’ve been known to wear two very different (though both silver and both hoops) earrings, hoping no one would notice, I hit the jackpot when I bought a new pair that almost exactly matched an old pair.

That means I have four earrings that match one another. Any of those two makes a pair.

Which is good, since I never ever know where all four are at the same time.

Usually, I only know where two are.

So I was rather frustrated when the one on the right in the picture above disappeared for a few days and then appeared in the bottom of the washing machine, quite whompy-jawed, the following Monday.

But later that day, I saw a glint of silver shining under my nightstand.

And I was back to two silver earrings that match as long as no one sees the back of them.

This is my problem.

These serendipitous moments.

They bring me such joy. Such justification for my issues. Such hard evidence of the benefits of having extras.

And then something like the Losing of the Only Set of Keys for More Than Two Whole Months happens.

And I’m reminded that my Love of Extras has a dark and sinister side.

The End.

No life-changing conclusion here. No wise words. Just the acknowledgement that this is an ongoing struggle in my Slob Brain.

Podcast listeners click here.



Give Me a Space and I Will Fill It

Give Me a Space and I Will Fill It at

Last summer, I bought a new purse.

I went to a home party and the salesperson logic just made so much sense. And I needed a new purse.

Really. I did.

It had one feature that’s a must for me. The cross-body strap. When I lived in Thailand, my purse-buying habits changed forever. When the only way to get from place to place is public transportation, scatter-brained people like me need purses that stay attached to the body. We can’t use purses that require remembering to grab them before getting out of the taxi.

But this other strange thing happened when I bought my first no-hands purse.

I realized I liked a small purse.


The kind that makes most people say, “Oh. I could never have a purse that small” and assume I’m a minimalist.


So for the past 15 years, I’ve been rocking the micro-purse. Just big enough for a phone and a wallet and maybe some lipstick. Oh, I manage to stuff more in there than any Normal Person you’ll ever meet, but there was a limit.

Because it was small.

So, even though this purse is cute (it has DOTS!) and meets the where’s-my-purse-oh-right-it’s-hanging-on-my-body requirement and it’s not HUGE or anything, it’s too big.

Because if you give me a space, I shall fill it.

With enough stuff to completely fill a plastic shopping bag.

With enough stuff that I could no longer find ANYthing I actually needed. Enough stuff that I was embarrassed to have to dig for my wallet because randomness emerged and fell to the floor. Enough stuff that when my daughter was carrying a purse, she grabbed a receipt, got a zoned-out look on her face, mindlessly wadded it up, and stuffed it in her purse.

And then laughed.

And said she was doing what Mom does.

You could be totally logical and say I could apply the same Can’t Keep This principles that come naturally when I have a small purse to my big purse.

But that doesn’t happen around here.

Ooooohhhh, space!!!! Must fill!!! happens.

I just have to go with it.

Meet my new teeny-tiny purse. Honestly, it might be too teeny-tiny.

I’m nervous.

Edited to add:

I wrote this post earlier in the week. Now I know that blue “purse” IS too small. I’m using it, but looking for one that’s small but not teeny-tiny.

Edited to add:

I went back to the big purse TEMPORARILY because I needed to stuff it with my Kindle and some snacks for a track meet. Hmmmph.

iTunes Listeners Click Here


© 2009 - 2015 A Slob Comes Clean All rights reserved. | Blog Header and Button design by Many Little Blessings.