Every remotely introspective person has things that she doesn't like about herself. Here's one of biggest problems.
I am a messy. I have always been a messy. It's not my mama's fault. Heaven knows, she tried to fix me. But I am a mess. I stash stuff in convenient (but incorrect) places. I make piles and piles. When I get something out, I have to consciously make myself put it away after I use it. And I do, of course, try to do that. But there are lots of times it doesn't happen too. And these days, when I go to clean, there's just so much to do that I don't know where to start.
I am not naturally organized. I like being organized and I can get organized. I like being tidy. If I have plenty of time, I can organize pretty much anything. But keeping it that way . . . ah, that's another matter. I have gotten into labeling things and it does help. I would like to hook myself up with some kind of shock collar that, er, surprises me when I put things in the wrong place. But as I have not found such a device yet, I have found that labeling where things go does, at the very least make aware when I am putting something else in this spot.
And then there's everything else in my life that makes keeping an orderly and clean home difficult. (Myself is the first and foremost problem, of course.) We have the Flash. Sweet, loving, mild tempered dog. Loyal and patient with all the ear pulling, climbing, and riding he endures (enjoys) every day. Now, I do have to give him credit for keeping our kitchen and dining room floors completely crumbless. But then there's the dog hair, the dust, the slobber he slings all over the house, and muddy paw prints. I just can't seem to teach him to wipe his feet. And drool . . . oh boy, this dog can drool. I think he has an hyperactive salivary gland. Seriously, it has to be a medical condition. This is NOT normal.
Our two year old enjoys cleaning up after herself, really. Just yesterday, she put away her little people and a flashlight in Daddy's running shoes. But seriously, she is like a little tornado. And the littlest one is on my hip more often than not...which means I knock things over and don't pick them up. Or I stick stuff places. Or I just don't get anything done!
I'm starting to get overlapping naptimes from the girls most days. So if I'm not scheduled to tutor on the computer, and everyone has clean clothes, and dinner is ready to go in the oven, then I have time to think about the state of the house. But I'm just not even sure where to begin. I always feel like I need a BIG (like hours) chunk of time to do any cleaning. And that is just not part of my reality. I think I need a support group. Anyone else out there suffer from this condition? Are all of my friends really as neat as I think you are? And if so, do you have any tips for me?
I promise, my next post will include lots of warm, fuzzy pictures of small children. Because really, that is what fills my heart and my days. I just needed to share a little frustration with myself!
Thursday, February 28, 2013
Thursday, February 14, 2013
"Mi casa"
For those of you hoping for a Valentine's Day post about love and mushy squishiness, I will apologize upfront. We've had a bit of a rough spot the past few weeks. Actually months. So we'll be putting off cupid and red and pink and love for just a bit. Not that our house isn't full of love; it is. It's just not so full of spare time or energy.
Our house is what I wanted to write about today. We sponsor a little boy in Guatemala through Compassion International. (Insert plug for a fantastic organization here!) I have been woefully negligent about writing to him the way I should and the way I want to since the kiddos arrived on the scene here stateside, but I'm resolving to change that soon.
He continues to write us letters periodically and last week we got one that just stopped me in my tracks. I can't stop thinking about it. The letter was entitled "Mi Casa" and he described the place he calls home. The first thing he tells us is that they have a bathroom. They have one bedroom where they sleep and eat. They have a patio for hanging clothes to dry. He helps wash dishes and clothes in the sink (It was unclear whether or not that sink was in the bathroom.) So there you go - a bedroom, a bathroom, a patio, and I'll assume a small kitchen or kitchen area. His family rents their home.
And then he asks, "Como es su casa?" Um. Here, I mentally shift my weight uncomfortably. Each of my daughters has her own room. I have a laundry room with a washer and dryer. I have a dishwasher. Our living room is separate from the kitchen and from the bedrooms. We have two and a half bathrooms. We even have a bedroom for guests when they come to visit. And then I think . . . and we would like to move at some point. A bigger backyard, more space, a playroom area, updated fixtures, an eat-in kitchen. For real? An eat-in kitchen?
We have so much, but I don't stop to realize it much. I'm not sure even how to answer his question in a way that he will understand. Except that I can tell him that the best thing about our house is that the people in it are loved by God and love God in return. And we love each other. And then in my mind, I will thank this dear sweet boy for reminding us to be grateful for how God has provided for us and for the vast majority of Americans, who have never experienced anything like what he described. It kinda makes you think about needs, wants, and just what is enough.
Contentment. Elusive as it is, we are told to pursue it. I often think about the words I have seen often, but whose origin I don't know. Someone out there is content with less than what you have. Thanks for the perspective check.
Our house is what I wanted to write about today. We sponsor a little boy in Guatemala through Compassion International. (Insert plug for a fantastic organization here!) I have been woefully negligent about writing to him the way I should and the way I want to since the kiddos arrived on the scene here stateside, but I'm resolving to change that soon.
He continues to write us letters periodically and last week we got one that just stopped me in my tracks. I can't stop thinking about it. The letter was entitled "Mi Casa" and he described the place he calls home. The first thing he tells us is that they have a bathroom. They have one bedroom where they sleep and eat. They have a patio for hanging clothes to dry. He helps wash dishes and clothes in the sink (It was unclear whether or not that sink was in the bathroom.) So there you go - a bedroom, a bathroom, a patio, and I'll assume a small kitchen or kitchen area. His family rents their home.
And then he asks, "Como es su casa?" Um. Here, I mentally shift my weight uncomfortably. Each of my daughters has her own room. I have a laundry room with a washer and dryer. I have a dishwasher. Our living room is separate from the kitchen and from the bedrooms. We have two and a half bathrooms. We even have a bedroom for guests when they come to visit. And then I think . . . and we would like to move at some point. A bigger backyard, more space, a playroom area, updated fixtures, an eat-in kitchen. For real? An eat-in kitchen?
We have so much, but I don't stop to realize it much. I'm not sure even how to answer his question in a way that he will understand. Except that I can tell him that the best thing about our house is that the people in it are loved by God and love God in return. And we love each other. And then in my mind, I will thank this dear sweet boy for reminding us to be grateful for how God has provided for us and for the vast majority of Americans, who have never experienced anything like what he described. It kinda makes you think about needs, wants, and just what is enough.
Contentment. Elusive as it is, we are told to pursue it. I often think about the words I have seen often, but whose origin I don't know. Someone out there is content with less than what you have. Thanks for the perspective check.
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