An inadequate post.

Dad's farm at sunset.

I've felt so inadequate lately. I wish I could explain it. I've tried. But I just can't seem to pinpoint the exact reason for the massive serving of inadequacy garnished with even more inadequacy, and then served on white paper plates that are obviously inadequate for such an occasion.

Inadequacy is something that my mind usually doesn't bother itself with. I mean, I'm usually more bothered by the excessive side of the scale. I talk really loud, speak before I think, share more than anyone bargained for and interrupt more often than commercial breaks on the season opener of American Idol. I'm not saying that inadequacy isn't something that I struggle with, because HEAVEN HELP ME. {Don't tell anyone, but I don't even have an etsy shop or a photog business or make all my old shirts into perfectly sewn little dresses for my stylish daughter, and I'm not even going to tell you how much money I DIDN'T SAVE due to my inadequate ability to clip and organize coupons.} I'm just saying that I'm the proud owner of plenty other personality quirks that seem to trump the feeling of inadequacy.

But lately my inadequacy has all but consumed me.

You call yourself a good mom, Kim. {evil chuckle} Good moms don't forget about the laundry and allow it to mold in the washer until one starts to wonder what died. Good moms don't allow their boys to eat a solely hotdog diet for SIX DAYS IN A ROW. Seriously Kim, would you get it together. When was the last time you exercised, huh? Or read a book? You need to pay more attention to the needs of others, Kim. Be more aware. And your hair. Oh sweetie, your hair looks horrendous. Would you learn how to properly apply make-up, Kim. P.S. you need a new wardrobe. You are so inadequate. Sigh.

Most of the time my extreme optimism is able to ward off any feelings of inadequacies.

So what the kid hasn't eaten anything but hotdogs for a week. Every hotdog slice is saturated in ketchup before entering his mouth. So it's actually like he's eating tomatoes. By the truckload! And no biggie that the same load of laundry as been 'resting' in the washer since last Tuesday. The clothes were stained. They needed that extra soaking time.

And usually what I can't fight with the glass half-full scenario I'm able to overlook as something that I'm working on, something that I'm trying to improve, the whole "I'll do better next time" thing.

But lately I've been acutely aware of me and all my inadequacies. They've been starring me straight in the face begging for my surrender; taunting me to admit failure, to throw in the towel, to acknowledge an inadequate defeat.

It's not my inadequacies as a mother, or a wife, or a housekeeper, or a friend that seem to be getting the best of me. Although, no kidding, those inadequacies are as numerous as wedding announcements on the BYU campus.

What's really bothering me is the inadequacy that I've been feeling in my church calling. I'm the Laurel advisor, I teach the 16-18 year old girls.

This isn't my first time having this calling; I've had a calling in the Young Women's for the majority of my married years. In fact in the seven years I've been married, I've held almost every calling available in the Young Women's program. I love the Young Women's program. I love the lessons, I love the weekly "mutual" activities, I love girl's camp and I love being involved with the youth in the ward. I'm comfortable there, and never ever before {not even as Young Women's President} have I felt inadequate.

But for some reason the last few months have been different. Maybe I haven't spent enough time preparing. Or haven't started early enough. Maybe it's because of the group of girls that I have in my class right now. Or maybe just one or two of the girls. Maybe because I don't prepare a tablescape with every lesson {gasp}. Maybe it's because I can name 85 people in the ward that would be much better in the calling. Maybe because I get too excited when I teach: talk to fast, to loud, repeat myself. Maybe because I have young children and a husband that I would much rather spend my time with. Maybe it's none of the above. Or maybe a mix of all of the above.

But whatever it is . . . it's a battle, of sorts, that I fight every Sunday evening. That overwhelming feeling of inadequacy. 

And somehow, I'm not sure how yet, but somehow I'm going to overcome it. Any ideas?

P.S.

Spence and I just heard strange noises outside and we went to check it out.

Err, um. . . I sent him to check it out while I sat comfortably {and safely} on the couch.

He found a baby deer relaxing on our back lawn.

We found a few more on the front side of the house.

That explains all my mysteriously eaten tomato and pepper plants.

And the yard full of deer poop we've been cleaning up day after day.

But they were baby deer.

And they were cute.

So I'm over it.

The eaten plants part.

Not the deer poop.

Because, seriously, gross.

That's what the neighbor's yards for.