You know how the Kohl’s Clearance Area is? I can hardly get any shopping done, because I am straightening the racks. As far as my faults, Let me save you the effort: if you’re looking for my faults, you’ll find them faster than I find my glasses—which is saying something, since I now own three pairs and none of them are ever where I left them.

My flaws aren’t mysterious. They’re about as subtle as a hot flash in church. I could try to hide them, but that would be like hiding a casserole dish in the back of the fridge. You know it’s back there, and eventually, it’s going to start molding and smelling.

So here’s the short list:

• I talk too much. (Basically a podcast that nobody subscribed to, and you can’t hit “skip intro.”) As my son once reminded me, “Sometimes your wit gets you into trouble.”
• I run early. (Mostly because my Dad used to say, “If you are 10 minutes early, you are late!” I am not just early. I am there making small talk with the staff and helping them set up tables.)
• I can be needy. (Yes, I will wonder if you’re mad at me when you just grumbled at the world. And I will spend the day wondering how I should handle that or if I should handle it.)
• I hate leaving the house sometimes. (Because real pants are involved. Stretchy waistbands are my soul mate. And as a child my home was not always the best and “home” and my nest are very important to me. I don’t always have the tidiest, nicest house, but my nest is where I keep my happy thoughts and my supply of snacks.”)
• Random moods. (Sometimes I don’t even know what’s wrong. It could be hormones, could be low blood sugar, could be that I can’t find the remote or that I lost my phone while talking on it. Or it could be that someone just said or did something and I am just trying to figure it out. I am not good at “games”, except for like word games like Scrabble or maybe even a game of Monopoly. But people games, I am out.)
• I am a fixer (But with emojis. If you come to me with a problem, I may try to solve it or offer advice that is meant in the kindest, most compassionate way. Or I will at the least try to duct tape it emotionally until it holds. Confide in me at your own risk. I will offer a motivational pep talk that even I didn’t see coming. Lonely? Take a cooking class and be your own fan. You so deserve a great meal and pretty dishes and nice napkins.)

And that’s not even the full list. Honestly, if my quirks were items in Costco, you’d need one of those oversized flatbed carts just to haul them all out.

But here’s the part that matters: if you can squint past my flaws (use those bifocals if you have to), you’ll find the good stuff too.

I’ll show up when you need me—coffee in hand.

I’ll meet for dinner when your day has gone full “Life Alert commercial.”

I’ll sit and listen to you vent about work, your kids, your aging parents or your cholesterol numbers. No judgment here.

I’ll cheer for you at your 5K like I’m your personal fan club, even though my idea of cardio is speed-walking through the supermarket before the store closes.

And yes—I’ll order the queso before you can even say, “Should we?”

If you need help, I’ll be there, even if I have to throw on my “nice” distressed jeans to do it. And when I mess up (which is often), I’ll apologize quickly, because honestly, who has time to drag things out when there are grandkids’ birthdays to attend, prescription refills to pick up, and a back that twinges every time I sneeze?

And that’s another thing. I am well aware that I say “I’m sorry” too often. I have considered adding it my email signature, right after “Sincerely”. It is a hard habit to break. I was a middle child. I kept the peace or at least tried to. I could easily rent out guilt a separate bedroom. I just want everyone to be happy.

Here’s the deal: if you look for my faults, you’ll find them. They’re not shy. But if you look for my heart, you’ll find that too.

So let’s make a pact:

We stop leading with judgment.

We give each other grace, because life is short and our patience is already stretched thin by technology updates, political unrest and mystery joint pain.

We laugh at the chaos instead of letting it win.

We believe the best in each other—even on the days we forget why we walked into the kitchen. We believe that for this moment we are doing the best we can.

Because at this stage, perfection is overrated. But laughter, grace, and a basket of chips with extra queso? That’s the good stuff.