Sometimes I overextend myself. I don’t do it intentionally
and most of the time I don’t even realize I’m doing it until it’s too late and
I find myself sitting in the middle of the classroom floor surrounded by piles
of tulle, cotton batting, and glitter, tears streaming down my exhausted face,
swearing to anyone within earshot that I will never volunteer for anything again.
Oh wait - there is no one to listen to my wails and declarations because they
all went to bed hours before. They’re all nestled snug in their beds with
visions of sugarplums dancing in their heads whilst I accidentally hot glue my
fingers to the same piece of cardboard over and over again.
It’s not that I can’t say no – that’s not it at all. I can
say it and say it often - it’s that once I start saying yes, I can’t stop. It’s
a slippery slope, my friends.
For nearly a year now I have said no quite a bit actually.
We resigned from our youth ministry positions shortly after the first of the
year and then moved to a whole new part of the county soon after that. The lack
of 25 extra youth to keep track of greatly reduced the amount of stress in our
lives right off the bat. Then add in that we moved roughly 45 minutes from
everyone and everything we were used to being close to - that also reduced our
activities. We needed some rest. Youth ministry ain’t for sissies (and it’s
usually done by folks a lot than us). We soon settled into our new, quiet
lifestyle and it was good.
Our weekends have been spent mostly at home since January.
Our evenings have been spent mostly at home as well. Before we moved, the kids
were begging to stay home on the weekends – as of late they have been asking to
please go somewhere, anywhere besides our house or yard. When my husband and
his oldest brother built a fire pit at the brother’s place this fall and
suddenly we found ourselves ‘round a campfire a few nights a week the kids
thought they’d won the social lottery.
Then our son asked to play basketball. And we said yes. We
went from binge-watching half a season of Hell
on Wheels or LOST at a go, to
(gasp) leaving the house for hours at a time, several days a week. Then, in a
moment of social weakness, I agreed to participate in our homeschool co-op’s
Christmas Craft Fair. That youngest kid of mine is so dang cute sometimes she
should be considered dangerous. She can talk people into stuff they have no
intention of ever doing. The second I said yes to the fair, she whipped out her
iPad, opened up Pinterest and started talking a mile a minute about decorated
clothespins, snowman tea lights, Christmas trees made from sticks and ribbon
(like I have any intention of going out and picking up sticks) and other
hand-crafted items of extreme cuteness and adorableness that some women find enjoyable.
I only see the work involved, laid out in the Excel-like spreadsheet of my
overly analytical mind.
We are a week away from the craft fair. We’ve narrowed it
down to two crafts. I’m voting for the one that uses the half bag of cotton
balls in the bathroom cabinet and that partially dried-up watercolor set in the
craft bin.
And as I write this it’s now 11pm. Not only am I just now
writing my column, but I also just remembered I volunteered to create new
classroom signs for the homeschool co-op. Chapel begins in 10 ½ hours.
Oh well. In all honesty, it has been a few weeks since I hot-glued my fingers to some cardboard.
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