thank you, matthew...

"Why do you look at the speck of sawdust in your brother's eye 

and pay no attention to the plank in your own eye?"

-Matthew 7:3 NIV

When we remodeled Shawna's bedroom after she married, one of her closets became Kevin's allowing me sole custody of our modest walk-in. Kevin has little patience for tedious organization so I gladly transfered his clothes from our room to hers. The fresh paint and carpet merited thoughtful arrangement of his clothing, each categorized comfortably in their spacious new digs. In the 1404 laundry cycle, I take the clothes from hamper to washer/dryer to closet. He takes them from closet, to body, to hamper. Usually. Perhaps in fear I'll interrupt the laundry cycle and allow his favorites to hibernate in the hamper, perhaps just because he can, he will often omit the hamper step completely and instead stock pile the clothes on the shelf where his neatly rolled socks await their destiny. I can't stand it. Just can't stand it. I slide the door open to put his socks away and there they are. Assorted shirts, pants and socks, saved like gum on the bedpost overnight. And now my point.

You should see my closet.

I have purses all over the floor, too lazy to put my summer assortment away and swap them out for the winter ones, so there's a mix of both collecting dust; the chest of drawers that is more than willing to store my jewelry in complete organization is a total mess, while my collection of bling is spread out across my dresser in the bedroom. My clothes: well, suffice it to say I probably waste 15 minutes each morning searching for a specific item that's probably laying in a small, but inexcusable pile by my bedside.

And it hit me the other day, this is how I am. I have advice (Matt would probably describe as judgment) for everyone else on the planet, whether I know you by name or not. I can lose your unwanted weight, manage your finances and raise your children. I am armed with more know-how than a blonde's ever been credited with having and yet I whine about my pot belly and walk out of Wal-Mart with crap I'll never need. Thankfully my daughter was predisposed to turn out well so she makes me look like mother of the year, but I'm just a common plank-er truth be known. And Matthew, well, take it easy. Fat bruises...