Life's True Treasures

My kitchen floor looked like this.

 But my girls looked like this.

An immaculate home is a sign of a wasted life.

I should probably make a sign and post it somewhere in my house to explain to some of my guests.

Abby lovingly helped Grace step into her tutu. I grabbed a scarf and turned on some music. We twirled, swayed, and danced through the living room.

Life isn't about the number of breaths you take. 

It's about the moments that take your breath away.

I never want to choose having a spotless house over showing my children that they are my real treasures. My house may be messier than I'd really like. I may be pregnant and tired. But my kids' cute little faces take my breath away.

And as long as the local ant population doesn't move inside to claim my crumbs, my kitchen floor can wait a while.

Happiness Is...

It was one of those days where I was plotting how to get my house cleaner. How could I involve the kids more? When should we do it? Which tasks are appropriate to which kids? Hmmmm. Muddle muddle muddle. Think think think. Finally I concluded by feeling grateful for a sweet husband who never complains when the house isn't as clean as either of us would like.

Happiness, I decided, is recognizing what you have.

I don't have an immaculately clean house. But I do have a thoughtful, kind husband. And I do have a houseful of cute, lovable kids who I will miss terribly one day when my house is cleaner.

I don't have a masters degree. But I never racked up any accompanying student debt. And I am a stay-at-home mom--the ultimate goal I always dreamed of.

I don't have two eyes. But I do have deeper levels of compassion, understanding, and gratitude than I ever had before my cancer.

I don't have loads of leisure time to pursue personal goals. But I do have a sweet family who wants to be with me whenever they can.

Do you see what I mean? We all have limits, and we all have blessings. We can choose which we focus on. Happiness is recognizing what we have.

In the Eyes of a Child

It was a Saturday evening, and I sighed deeply when I went downstairs. Every room seemed to be a complete disaster, it was bedtime, and I didn't have the energy to clean up or to supervise my kids cleaning.

Jake heard my sigh and quickly jumped in to defend his position.

"Yeah, it's kind of a mess. Kids are messy sometimes. So you have to choose if you want to have kids or if you want to be lonely 'cause kids are messy."

I'm pretty lucky to have such a wise 5-year-old. I'll just keep reminding myself how grateful I am to not be lonely while I clean up the messes.

Give It Your Best Game Face

Several months ago I was feeling beleaguered and tired of housework. We had just finished dinner, and I was facing mealtime clean up without much energy. So I flexed my not-very-impressive biceps and gave our kitchen sink my fiercest I-am-about-to-take-you-down expression.

Unfortunately, Cameron witnessed my little show of aggression from across the kitchen. “Uh, what are you doing?”

“Giving the dishes my game face,” I explained nonchalantly.

At this point Cameron probably figured that my sanity wasn’t faring so well under the pressures of young motherhood, but he’s much too sweet to say so.

In case you want to try it, I must confess that giving the dishes my game face actually works, if for no other reason than it makes me laugh. And laughter is life’s best medicine, right?

Jake is afraid even if the dishes aren't. 

Recently Jake was whining about the hardships of having to wipe the table after dinner before moving on to more enjoyable activities. He had retreated to the bathroom to pout. I went to encourage him. I gave him a step-by-step tutorial on how to give a game face. He didn't do it. But he did laugh and do his job. 

Cameron and Abby perfecting their game faces

Really. You should try it sometime. 

Personal Cheer Squad

Jake and Abby have been performing various tasks around the house the past few weeks to earn money for Christmas presents. (It's going to be a rough break in January when Mom and Dad are no longer shelling out the change every time they sweep, help cook, or tend Grace.) Jake had agreed to vacuum the basement, but he was running out of steam.

"I want you to help me!" he whined.

"What do you want me to do?" I asked. It seemed obvious that if I did it for him, he wouldn't get the money. Jokingly I continued, "Should I cheer for you?" I put on my most dramatic cheer moves (be grateful you weren't there to witness this) and shouted, "Go Jacob! Go Jacob! Go Jacob! Go!"

Much to my surprise, he agreed. "Sit on the couch and cheer," he instructed.

I did, and I've never seen such zealous vacuuming.

But then again, who wouldn't want a cheering section?

Mom is awesome, Mom is cool! Watch her use those cleaning tools!

Go, Mom, go! Iron those clothes!

Hip hip hooray! Pancakes today!

Watch out dust and watch out crumbs! Watch out dirt 'cause here she comes!

Our Mom rocks! She washes all our socks!

Maybe I'll add "Mom's personal cheer squad" to the kids' Christmas fundraising options. I better go buy some pom poms.

Just Me and My Dust Bunnies

I was having one of those days recently. You know the kind. My girls were both sick with glassy eyes, runny noses, and chest coughs. Their sleep patterns betrayed their symptoms, and my house displayed the results. My vacuum was out of the closet, plugged in, and ready to go. Yet my front room still looked like this.

Not exactly company ready. So as I sat trying to rock Grace back to sleep after she coughed herself awake mid-nap, the lines of this poem started floating through my head.

Queen of Clean 

by Rachel Sullivan

That woman’s bathroom counters are always sparkling white,

I hear she stays up extra late to scrub them every night.

Her sink and tub both gleam so bright you have to look away;

If you don’t you’ll have to live with damaged retinas one day.

You may look for your reflection but it doesn’t really matter

If you use the chrome or mirror—one is rounder, one is flatter.

Her kitchen, halls, and main rooms are all the sterile same.

I’m pretty sure a hospital room accommodates more stains.

In the evenings and the weekends, she doesn’t take a rest,

She labors to ensure her yard and garden look the best.

Her grass is always greenest, her weeds wither ‘neath her stare.

Her bushes and her trees are pruned and fertilized with care.

If you find that this description precisely sums up you,

I’m sure that you enjoy your house and yard and garden, too.

If you want to stop and visit and share tips on how to mop,

I’ll need a little notice so I can vacuum, dust, and shop.

I’ll pick up air refresheners, replace my smelly rags.

I might even see fit to buy some name-brand garbage bags.

By the time you make it to my door, my surfaces will shine.

My closets will be stuffed quite full with toys all left behind.

My smile will gleam, you’ll think my house is always so serene.

You’ll wonder way deep down if I should be the Queen of Clean.

I’ll heave a sigh and shut the door as you head down my walk.

You’ll never know my secret ‘cause my dust bunnies don’t talk.

Despite the views expressed in this poem, I actually do value a clean house. Most days I find cleanliness and motherhood to be completely incompatible. But that's a discussion for another day.