Why I Don't Read Elizabeth's Blog....

Elizabeth Foss is a very nice lady. I bought her book. I read it cover to cover.

Everyone I know - at least every Catholic mother I know - reads Elizabeth's blog. They have her on their blog roles. They rave about her brilliant posts. This week, many of my friends were excited about her wonderful post on linens - how to keep your linens 'just so' and neat tricks she has on folding and storing them and ... I don't know what all.

I didn't read the post. In fact, I avoid Elizabeth's blog pretty much no matter what. Not because I don't like her - I do. I think she's a really great lady and a fantastic mom. But because... I really can't relate to her. I read her book, and I didn't find it useful, for the same reason. People I love rave about her book and say it is the best homeschooling book ever. Maybe it is.

But you see, Elizabeth and I live on separate planets. Our realities are so far apart that I really can't relate to her plane of existence.

I mean really. Elizabeth Foss is perfect. I bet if you went to her house and knocked on her front door at 4pm on a Friday afternoon - totally unannounced - she would open the door and invite you in. She'd probably even offer you tea. Her beautiful, immaculate children would all have on clean, nice clothes [even her 3 year old]. There would be no dirty dishes in her sink and you would have a good idea that you would feel comfortable eating off her floor if the need truly arose [which it wouldn't because I bet Elizabeth would offer you some beautiful china to eat off of].

If you knock on my door at 4pm on a Friday afternoon, I probably will not answer. I will gag the children and make them be silent and pretend we aren't home. If the 3yo actually gets to the door before I catch her and answers it, then don't count on me inviting you in. Of course, you will forget why you came in your shock over the fact that the 3yo that just answered the door is stark naked and has a belly that is covered with purple marker. And, if you peer in behind her, you will probably see her 5yo sister, who is covered in mud, colored chalk, and grass stains. You won't know that I actually bathed both children that morning. You wouldn't guess that they started out in clean, lovely clothes and that this is the 5yo's THIRD outfit that she's stained up and ruined for the day.

If the 3yo makes a break for it, you might get a glimpse into my home while I run down the street chasing her naked booty. You will catch your breath at the toys strewn around, the dishes in the sink, and the sticky, muddy foot printed floor. [You would definitely, not in your worst nightmares, want to eat off that floor....]

Once I return, breathless, pregnant and embarrassed, dragging the protesting naked 3yo behind me, I will be further humiliated to realize you have glimpsed my pig sty. I will think to myself "Well, at least they didn't see UPSTAIRS" where you would have probably exclaimed out loud at the mounds of laundry everywhere - you would wonder how one woman could possibly get THAT behind on her laundry. You would not feel the least little urge to check my linen closet to see what cool and nifty ideas I had for storing all my lovely, perfectly folded linens.... because really, in our family we are just happy if there ARE clean linens around when we need them....

Probably nobody critical to Elizabeth's happiness and well being goes crazy on a periodic basis. I bet she never has to worry if her kids would have a place to live or food to eat. I don't think she has to work outside the home other than her writing around her children's schedule. Most likely she doesn't have to worry too much about what would become of them if she dies in the next..oh, 6 months or so. Probably she isn't responsible for the care of anyone that she loves dearly who has chronic health problems... Probably she hasn't suffered from debilitating kidney stones and surgery and single parenthood and betrayal and reconciliation and an unexpected scary pregnancy attendant with killer "morning" sickness all in the last six months..... Does she get debilitating morning sickness [all day sickness] with each baby? Somehow I can't imagine her throwing up all day while screaming at her children to please, please, for the sake of their mother's sanity, PLEASE let her sleep on the couch for just 10 minutes or she will die....

And, on my better days, I take comfort in that fact. I am happy if she has not had to deal with these things, and I sincerely hope that none of those things ever touch her beautiful life. The world is a better place because there are lovely people like her - with lives unmarred for the most part by tragedy and .... messiness.

On my worse days though, I find myself absolutely depressed to read about her life. Her life seems so wonderful in every way... and part of me thinks "Well, even if she DID have all these other things on her plate, I bet she'd handle it with such Grace you'd never know it. Why can't I do that?"

And then I just want to cry.

Because I can't do that. What I can do, at least for right here and right now, is provide good, healthy, nutritious food for my children. A good education, provided with love if not always with perfect patience. A roof over their heads and clean clothes to wear [they start clean anyway...]. I can promise them a home filled with strong Catholic faith and a sincere and powerful love of the Lord. And I can promise them that I will do my dead level best to hold things together as best I can, to give them the best home I can provide for them under the circumstances that we have.... I can promise to keep loving their father till death do us part, no matter what, and I can promise to love them like they were the most precious thing in the universe... because they are.

I can't read Elizabeth's blog. It is just too much of a glimpse into an alien universe for me, and I find myself falling into despair and the sin of outright covetousness.

But hey, for those out there who live in *my* universe - where nothing is EVER perfect and children are often naked - at least I hope you can take comfort in coming here to my "place" and reading about the good, and the bad, and the really, really messy.