I brought my younger girls to their friends house today. My friend was working but I was going to watch the kids at her house because according to my girls "they have way cooler toys". At least this is when you're six, and the coolest amount of toys you have is the amount of monster trucks, of which we have known. Case in point.
I brought my computer knowing that I was feeling 100% and I would probably lay on her bed and watch a movie on the Great, Invincible Netflix (I know, I know -- it's chewing up Mom & Pops, but really I think Blockbuster did that years ago -- so I try and let the guilt go). Now laying on someone else's bed might seem like an odd and quite a personal thing, but there is something about Renee and her home that make you feel nothing is sacred. I know this because we've laid on her bed talking about life, the kids, the husbands. Other people have joined in, sometimes on the floor, sometimes on the bed.
So, I settled myself down to "Precious", which with the interruptions was the only way I was going to watch it, because I had heard it was sad. (After I watched it, I realized that sometimes sad needs to open our eyes a bit more.)
In between interruptions I noticed how much laughter there was. How everything belonged in its place. It was ultimately peaceful, and I was immediately thrown into the silent mode of "how can I make my house this way, etc. Never, mind she's spent years purchasing baskets, etc, organizing. She ran a day care for almost 20 years -- of course, she's organized. "Here, Mr. Smith, I know you came with a daughter, but we're unable to locate her, and this little boy is only two year older than her so you'll avoid the potty section -- after Annabelle was only 2 mos." Either that or I'd find poor Annabelle in onto of the chinchilla cages.
So, when I couldn't sleep tonight, instead of laying there stressing about how dirty my kitchen was and how I had so many knick knacks and how my six year old had treasures of all sorts, I got up, stopped complaining, and cleaned the laundry room. I cleaned the kitchen. I washed the floors (don't be impressed -- it was just swifter stuff!), and watered the plants. Among my finds was some older incense which I am burning in the family room, which will be the room that will be hit up tomorrow.
I don't have to live in this chaos. I do have to teach my children how not to thrive in their chaos, but I actually, though it's completely sexist, find comfort in cleaning for my family. Knowing that they will wake and instead of my 19 year old starting her day at a crazy hot dog joint in dirty kitchen, she'll smell the clean floors, and see the wiped down counters. Even if it doesn't make a difference in her day -- it will in mine.
I brought my computer knowing that I was feeling 100% and I would probably lay on her bed and watch a movie on the Great, Invincible Netflix (I know, I know -- it's chewing up Mom & Pops, but really I think Blockbuster did that years ago -- so I try and let the guilt go). Now laying on someone else's bed might seem like an odd and quite a personal thing, but there is something about Renee and her home that make you feel nothing is sacred. I know this because we've laid on her bed talking about life, the kids, the husbands. Other people have joined in, sometimes on the floor, sometimes on the bed.
So, I settled myself down to "Precious", which with the interruptions was the only way I was going to watch it, because I had heard it was sad. (After I watched it, I realized that sometimes sad needs to open our eyes a bit more.)
In between interruptions I noticed how much laughter there was. How everything belonged in its place. It was ultimately peaceful, and I was immediately thrown into the silent mode of "how can I make my house this way, etc. Never, mind she's spent years purchasing baskets, etc, organizing. She ran a day care for almost 20 years -- of course, she's organized. "Here, Mr. Smith, I know you came with a daughter, but we're unable to locate her, and this little boy is only two year older than her so you'll avoid the potty section -- after Annabelle was only 2 mos." Either that or I'd find poor Annabelle in onto of the chinchilla cages.
So, when I couldn't sleep tonight, instead of laying there stressing about how dirty my kitchen was and how I had so many knick knacks and how my six year old had treasures of all sorts, I got up, stopped complaining, and cleaned the laundry room. I cleaned the kitchen. I washed the floors (don't be impressed -- it was just swifter stuff!), and watered the plants. Among my finds was some older incense which I am burning in the family room, which will be the room that will be hit up tomorrow.
I don't have to live in this chaos. I do have to teach my children how not to thrive in their chaos, but I actually, though it's completely sexist, find comfort in cleaning for my family. Knowing that they will wake and instead of my 19 year old starting her day at a crazy hot dog joint in dirty kitchen, she'll smell the clean floors, and see the wiped down counters. Even if it doesn't make a difference in her day -- it will in mine.
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