Some days the mess of our house,
Really gets under my skin.
The constant picking up and putting away,
It never looks like I’ve done a thing.
the frustration builds inside me,
Threatening to explode,
Am I the only one that sees all this?
Oh look, time for another laundry load.
The vacuuming and mopping,
The picking up of toys,
The accumulation of all this stuff,
The doubling with two boys.
On most days I can ignore it,
Surrendering to the mess.
But some days I remember how clean everything was,
Back when I had so much less.
Less. In every sense of the word,
Because if truth be told.
My house may have been cleaner,
But it was also far more cold.
No warming hugs to fill it,
Or pictures drawn with love.
No boyhood laughter or baby giggles,
No bursts of song just because.
And I try to remind myself of this,
When I feel it all getting to me.
That amidst the chaos are all these moments,
Far more important than the mess that I see.
That in this season I need to release,
And let go of the expectation.
That a tidy home is a possibility,
Or a necessary aspiration.
One day those things won’t be on the floor,
And my boys will be all grown.
Will I care if our place looked ‘lived in’ then?
Will they remember the warmth of their home?
The games we played, moments shared.
The memories made for four.
Or my constant cleaning up after them,
Their yearning for me to be present more.
So I’ll put down the cloth, and laundry,
Be done with the mop and spray.
And join them on the floor this time,
Find the joy in the moments of this day.
