Today it is snowing and wet and gray. It is also Monday. Monday are my best school days with the kids, we seem to get the most done on Mondays. We woke up today, made my bed, all had an easy light breakfast, and I put Daisy down for her morning nap, all the regular things. Dean and Ellie did their school work on my bed with me while I hollered at Ana to leave them alone for five seconds.
Thankfully today the kids gave me a moment of quiet time, it doesn’t always happen, so I was extra thankful for it today. This afternoon I looked down and realized I’m wearing my most comfy black sweatpants. On the right leg there are, as with most of my clothing, some paint stains.
Man people have given me a hard time for the paint on my clothes since…since before I can truly remember. There always seems to be something on me somewhere. It’s just a Maddie Fact.
Here is something that many people do not know though: I remember many of those paint stains.
The black pants and the paint there, a lot of that was from the night my Dad died. My mom called me, I told Blair, I wept bitterly while also rejoicing his pain was gone. I couldn’t go back to sleep though. I went down to my art desk in the same black pants I’m wearing today. The white circle of paint on my pants is from that night. I painted and painted and wrote and prayed and cried the night my Daddy died.
The purple shirt I’m wearing, towards the top, there’s some white paint. It’s from only two weekends ago when I painted the cabinets and yelled at John for not being here to see how awesome it looks. I have a shirt that says Addystrong. There’s red paint on it from when I painted beautiful red tulips for my friends mom. She supports my art in crazy wonderful ways which include asking me to make art for her family. She is one of my favorite patrons. I think of her every time I see that red mark on that shirt, which is often, because I love that shirt.
I have a maroon sweatshirt that is baggy and worn and pre-loved. A gift from my best friend. There are turquoise splatters on it now from nights spent with another good friend at my desk doing art and life together. Their memories and faces are a blue now in my mind when I see those turquoise spots.
The older I get the more secure I become in who I am as a person. I will never love wearing high heels and I don’t do my make up often. I go through periods where I like making my bed, but to be honest, most of the time I don’t bother. I don’t care if my kids never make their beds and I don’t fight them on it. I don’t match socks. I just don’t care if socks match.
I have paint on my clothes. Often. Usually. It’s more rare to see me without paint on my clothes. You can tell too which clothes I like the most, they will have the most paint on them. I love my flip flops, my water bottle has a bajillion stickers on it. I get really loud and really animated when I am passionate about something. My heart and emotions are worn on my sleeve and sometimes I make people uncomfortable with how much about my life I am willing to share. I can’t decorate well at all and my house will always look eclectic. I hate driving in the snow and I am in therapy consistently for the first time in my life. Worship songs bring me to tears and I cry when we sing of how Christ has conquered the grave.
Hello. My name is Maddie and the paint on my clothes tell stories.
I am settling into this part of my life. The 30 something’s where I have kids and a house and my bones are settling into a routine. Where I am not only not ashamed of the paint clothes, but finally feel I can embrace them wholeheartedly. I can embrace my loud emotions, my vulnerability, my need for space and unashamedly stepping back when I need to, or saying no when I need to.
31 year old Maddie is a vastly different person than 21 year old Maddie.
And I like this version and stage of my life very much, even with the heartache I’ve endured.
