It was so overdue. In my efforts to live my life, spend more time with my children and others, and do what really matters, the floors had gotten shoved to the back burner. Long gone have been my perfectionistic take on housekeeping. The superwoman cape was beginning to collect dust in the corner. I have not baked bread, reorganized my closet, or sold anything on ebay in over a month. Impressive. Oh yes, be much impressed by my progress! The toilet has a RING in it! There are crusted-on black beans adorning the highchair! Protein shake spills down the face of the cabinets! Cobwebs behind the kitchen aid! And a concoction of sand, cheerios, glitter, dust, hair bands, and naturally dehydrated sweet potato bits all. over. my. floors.
It has been good. To let it go. Very unlike my triple-type-A personality. Has it bothered me? Yes. Have I sat on my butt more? Not a bit. Somehow I've managed to stay just as busy not getting to those things, but my mindset has been more carefree. More "embrace the moment." More aware of what matters. (I hear a hippie chic version of "they'll know we're Christians by our looooooove" serenading the backdrop of my story here....)
Anyway, I had HAD it. When you have to get a warm washcloth to scrub off the black off your feet at night before crawling into bed, you know its time. (ok, so maybe some of it came from running barefoot in the yard to rescue a child who, for kicks, had screwed their LIP into a sippe cup [true story]) but still. It was time.
So I pick the perfect opportunity! The morning after I went to bed at 3:15am! YEAH! I'm just wise like that.
I decide to mix it up a bit and start backwards. Our house isn't big, 1100sq feet. It feels entirely too small for us most days, but when it comes to mopping, it seems WAY too big. The WHOLE house is hardwoods. Oh how I long for carpet in the bedrooms! Plush underfoot, not to mention a breeze to vacuum.
Ok, so plan: kids corralled in the living room with an episode of Sid the Science Kid (since after all, our floor unit study was in the subject) and I would begin on the bedrooms and hallway. That way by the time Asher was melting for a morning nap, his room would be dry, and I could re-situate kids. Brilliant. All seemed to be going quite well. I was thrilled with my progress! Then 11:00am hit me like a ton of bricks. I had failed to have breakfast. I never do that! HUGE breakfast fan! Probably because we are on the Maker's Diet. Day 6. And by now, I can promise you, I have almost forgotten what it means to eat. I think the handful of nuts and berries we are allotted are actually starting to escape my mind. But yes. I did hear my stomach growl, and quite loud. I ran into the kitchen to scramble up my spinach, peppers, onions, and 2 eggs. By then, the floors were dry in the back and YES, baby boy to bed! So, so impressed with myself. Yet again.
Then I decide to send the girls in the back yard while I tackle the kitchen/living/dining room. I start sweeping the kitchen, and mop a few rows and then McKayla comes bursting in, as she always does, with a bladder so full it must be relieved right now. Yes we've had the whole "maybe you should try before you have to go that bad?" talk. But to her, life is a serious game of playing hard, no time for unnecessary work! Until there is no way to avoid it any longer. So therefore, the intense declaration "I gotta go potty!" There I stand, mop in hand, realizing I had just mopped the sole lone passageway to el bano. I find my frustration mounting as I am finally getting a hold on these floors and little black tar baby feet start running in! I grab her up and am like "you can't go! you'll have to hold it!" But the look on her face says otherwise. In the moment my reasoning failed to compute that mopping up a few footprints would be far easier than a half of a day's worth of sippie cups exploding. In a stroke of brilliance, I run to the garage to see if I see the potty training chair out there, I'm digging around looking everywhere for the little happy frog kiddie toilet while McKayla is doing the potty dance and a look of pain and panic is on her face. Dangit, why do I ALWAYS see the dern thing when I am out there and the one time I need it, it's no where to be found!?!?!? "Well why don't you just go in the YARD!?" Wow Mom. Stooping to an all time low. How far ya gonna take this? What's next? "Why don't you just construct a toilet of out sticks and neighborhood yard debris and then roll up the whole tree of maple leaves into a toilet paper roll to wipe with?!" Finally I just get upset. It happened. The "my cleaning mission above all" takes over. I'm irritated by the situation, and start scolding her for not going potty BEFORE I started mopping! (like a 3 year old would really have that kind of foresight!?) Then in an effort to rush her along to the bathroom, because I see no other way, she stumbles and falls. Bursts into tears (and I am just praying nothing else bursts!). Great. She looks at me brokenhearted. I think she thought I pushed her. I frustratedly try to tell her I didn't push her, she fell, pushing would be mean. Kinda like, oh I don't know, someone that won't let their poor child go potty because you'd rather have clean floors? Anyway, I finally send her on her way and watch as one little footprint after another tramples through my precious sudsy strokes. I hear her whimpering in the bathroom.
I then see what a looser with a capitol "L" on the forehead I am.
She heads back outside and I half-sincerely say "I'm sorry McKayla, please just go play." Then with my head full of "this is what she will have to tell her shrink about when she is grown" thoughts, I continue on to finish the dang floors. I then decide instead of sweeping the whole thing I will sweep a section, then mop it. Somehow it felt like I was going faster?? I failed to calculate the fact that as I swept the area next to the wet area, the grime would mix with the edge of the wet therefore turning my broom into a smearing paintbrush of gunk. Ok. Bad idea. It's all a bad idea....
A CLEAN HOUSE IS A BAD IDEA!!!!!!
Why do I even try? If I do it, I don't put people first. If I don't do it, we start to lose our sanity! Or godliness. Since cleanliness is next to... yeah. What the heck am I supposed to do!!? As always, I try to look for a 3rd option. That's what smart people do. The only thing that pops into my head is some glowing illustration from a child training book on how your 2 and 4 year old's should have hair tied back in handkerchiefs, brooms in hand, merrily sweeping along with mom as we do the leprechaun side toe tap of magic cleaning bliss and we are all in it together!
--REALITY--
Applause for you all that have that homestead image down. But sorry, nope. Just not happening. And before you judge and think I do all the work and my kids don't help and blah blah please rest assured they have lots of chores around here and we are doing our best to instill good work ethic. Yea and amen.
I mean for one thing *I* can barely get the whole ill-designed broom sweeping the crumbs into the dustpan action. I mean don't we all chase the little remnants of that pile around the room about 11 times until we get most of it up!? And I can't imagine what that would be like if the broom was 2 or 3 times your height. So there. I'm a realist.
But the heart of it. OH YES. The heart of it. I put my floors above my relationship with my daughter. Pure and simple. No way around it. It doesn't matter that I had some "glowing record" of a month (or two?) of not being the cleaning Nazi and investing in my child. I let it go! I failed. I flopped. I was wrong.
I finished "polishing my idol" and threw on my flip flops and went outside to have a little heart to heart. Then I recalled how I had practically slammed the door in Gabrielle's face when she opened it and was about to come in for something. Granted I had already told her not to come in and the disobedience had to be dealt with, but the trailer trash momma's-gonna-slam-the-cardboard-door-in-yo-face action had no excuse. Really. I sat down at the bottom of the slide and called them around. "Mommy really messed up. I'm sorry for getting angry. I was wrong. I love you more than floors. Will you forgive me?"
Kids are always so stinkin' gracious. Thank God.
I have felt more anal and irritable this week being on this dumb salad diet. I know it's good. It's a cleanse. I've made the choice. But I have to watch myself. When I get hungry, I'm worse than a man. No joke. But this wasn't just the lettuce talking. This was me. RAW ME. Me in need of Jesus. Me in need of a Savior!
I honestly have been asking God to show up. To prove His love to me, to make it real, to help me sense He is near. This last year has been a tough one. Maybe I'll write on that sometime. But I find this week He is starting to do some crazy things that seems He just might be answering that prayer. I long to feel it and see it in my own heart more clearly so I can pass that on to my children. Because if it's not real from within, no plastic smile or hug will make it seem true. As I look to my Father to say "can ya just give me a hug?!", I find myself realizing that's more and more of what my kids need. I'm so thankful several month's back He started helping me love them in a whole new way. But days like today, I still need reminders. It's easy for me to slip back into productivity mode and fail to see what really matters. My children need to know they are not overlooked because I have a lot of other stuff going on. Maybe that's because honestly, that's how I feel a lot in my heart. God seems so stinkin' busy blessing and doing for and answering prayers for everyone around me, I feel He's too busy for mine. Silly, I know. Childish, yes. But faith is hard. If it truly is the evidence of things not seen, then I have a perfect opportunity! Because I ain't seein' a lot of action! Mhmmmmm! (Queen Latifah voice, there). Haven't for a while. And I'm usually ok with the "no's". I choose to believe He has a better plan. But it still hurts, after a while. I know God has me on a journey right now. I know it, know it, know it, down to the core of my soul. I feel I can barely wait for the "breakthrough" moment, when my soul bursts open into His light and He comes rushing in and His purposes and His love is revealed. Time and time again He has done this in my life. It's not always something dramatic, but I always know it's Him. I feel I am on the verge of Him scooping me up in His arms and snuggling me close and tearfully saying "I've heard you all along! I've loved you all along! I didn't ever have floors to mop..."
He has made us His priority. What a crazy thought. He gave His whole life up for us to live. I'm grateful for that truth. And I truly pray He continues me on this journey of finding His heart.
Last week I had the chance to hear Ann Voskamp, author of "One Thousand Gifts", along with some talented singers Christa Wells and Nichole Whitt. This song really touched me. It's where I am.
Bare feet stepping on glass
We break along life’s paths
Our fear and loss, we bring it all to you
Soul-breather, making all things new
You’re making all things new
We come in pieces
We come in fragments
We come discolored
To the foot of the cross
Our Maker sees us
All that we have been
Bonds us together
The Image of God
(Image of God, Christa Wells & Nicole Witt http://www.christawellsmusic.com/)
The pieces, the fragments and pieces. The discolorations. The fear, the loss. He owns it all. And I truly trust He's creating a beautiful stained-glass mosaic of it all. (that's my attempt to be creative and not use the typical "tapestry" illustration...) But it is true. I sense He is near, and I look for His hand of love. Seems that is His theme for me... for all of us... after all, it is the greatest, even above faith and hope.
Oh Jesus, may we be lovers.
So real and open. You're writing what we're all dealing with and how we've all felt at times. Thanks friend, for being genuine. Love you!
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