Saturday, December 22, 2012

Next To Godliness

My house is a little bit messy.

I can pick it up in a few minutes to welcome last minute company, and despite my family's best efforts, we're nowhere near needing a Hoarders style intervention (although I do like to joke that my husband's desk is one piece of paper away from a call from an A&E Producer).

We're just a little cluttered. There are Matchbox cars in random corners and books hiding beneath beds. Artwork by little hands is taped to the walls beneath framed grown up art. At any given time, a rogue shoe is spied without it's mate, and my staircases exist not so much to guide my family through the house as to hold items that await return to their rightful places.

As we navigate the horror of last week, I know that I am just like every other parent: hugging my children a little tighter, lingering a little while longer with the bedtime process, breathing in extra deeply and wishing I could bottle their smell to hold with me at all times.

I thank God for the little messes (and sometimes, big messes) that my family creates. I am overjoyed to witness the evidence of their existence in tiny ways as I go about my day. I am not one of those parents who believes a messy, disorganized house is the only sign of raising happy children: I grew up in a pristine house with off limits living and dining rooms and I view my childhood as having been nothing short of magical.

I'm just a person who, like so many others, has been forever prevented from taking a stray shoe, a crayon drawing, a soggy bathtub toy, or lost sock for granted ever again.


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