On a recent Friday when my son did not have school, we had a set agenda we’d decided on together the night before: bake cookies, play with a friend, workout (for me!), ride our bikes (nearly 7 miles round trip in 90 degree weather) to get frozen yogurt, and watch a requested movie.
Nowhere in this plan do you see “deal with spilled melted butter.” As I was grabbing the container in which my son had just melted butter to add to our Pumpkin Chocolate Chip Cookies, my son accidentally bumped my hand and the melted butter went everywhere. Everywhere. The counter. My clothes. My Birkenstock. The rugs. The floor. My son’s stool he uses to reach the microwave. The stove. The cupboards. More places I probably haven’t found yet. The glass dish the butter was in THANKFULLY didn’t break. My son escaped unbuttered (not sure how!). I’m assuming that there is some mathematical formula that could help me calculate the surface area that 4 ounces of melted butter can cover. However, the formula doesn’t take into account emotional perception of the reality of the situation, so I will declare that the formula predicts coverage at least 300% less than the actual coverage of melted butter.
You won’t find mention of the melted butter incident on Facebook or other social media among the pictures of butterflies, flowers, soccer, baking together, fun family moments, and vacations. Why would I not post a picture of this monumental mess? Practical reasons, really. I didn’t want to ruin a camera by picking it up with buttery hands. I didn’t want to further spread butter around the kitchen with buttery footprints that showed where I needed to walk to find the camera.
Why would I post pictures of my mess? Well, maybe I should’ve posted a picture of me covered in butter to show that I am a real person, too. My life isn’t all butterflies (well, there is one that just hatched this morning in a mesh critter keeper we’re keeping until it’s wings are dry enough), flowers (there are some where I will release the butterfly later today), fun family moments, vacations, and other photo-worthy moments shared on Facebook and other social media platforms. My life is full of messes. Messes I make. Messes my family makes. Messes that are physical. Messes that are emotional. Messes. All messes aren’t inherently bad. But all messes do take time and energy to deal with, work through, and clean up.
Below is my kitchen island mess right now–complete with newly hatched monarch butterfly name Glitter drying its wings. If you look closely you’ll see the pumpkin cookie jar that has the cookies in it that lead to the melted butter incident.
Next is my living room mess. It has the contents of the craft cabinets emptied on the floor among toys. The original cabinets were moved out last weekend in favor of one single cabinet that matches the decor better (and has a door to hide the craft messes behind). New cabinet is not 100% ready to go yet as there were no baseboards behind the cabinet. Husband is currently installing baseboards so we can get rid of mess and push new cabinet into place.
I’ll spare you the mess that it is the office. It involves books, school, supplies, boxes, and more.
My point is you are not alone in your messes. We all have messy lives. My mess will never be the same as your mess. Your mess will never be the same as mine. The life you see from a person on social media rarely shows messes and rarely shows the reality of people’s true existence. Own your messes. Work through them. Clean them up. Ask for help with your messes when needed.
Messes make life interesting–and in my case temporarily rather greasy.