Which led me to ponder as of late, will I ever have a really clean house?
The answer? No. I won't. Because that would mean my children weren't here. At all.
That's not (ironically) because they're all that dirty. That's also not because they create that much of a mess. It's because my time spent with them means I'm not cleaning our big big old house. When they're sleeping (all three at once? pppshaaaa yah right), okay, when the bigs are sleeping and the baby just woke up, I might clean the kitchen, or prep for dinner, or design a new blanket for my etsy shop, or do laundry.
But dust? Vacuum? Catch up on all my sewing projects? Probably not.
But the day-to-day? It's a little dirty and filled with cobwebs. But the kids still romp around, oblivious to the dust. They still play chess. They still run up the front stairs shouting "last one's a rotten egg" before nap time. They still love me, despite my poor housekeeping abilities.
I don't want to look back at this time and think wow my house was so clean. I want to look back and think wow my time was so full. Whether it's spent volunteering in our local awesome birth& parenting world as an associate board member for the Twin Cities Birth & Baby Expo (Oct 4, mark it down, people), or running our parish moms group (Sept 17, mark it, ladies), or watching my kids spray each other with dirty water that's been sitting in our plastic outdoor pool for a few days, those are the memories I want.
Sorry, house. I love you, but you're not going to get much cleaner right now. And I'm okay with that. I hope you are, too, as you celebrate your 100 birthday this year. (So was this whole blog post a love letter to my house? You decide.)