A little poem for your wall....

by sarahmfry, October 15, 2007
One of my life’s greatest frustrations is my desire to keep my house "company-ready, magazine-clean" all the time. I work at it – I stay up late staying on top of it. And I have a really cool flylady schedule that keeps me decluttering and deep-cleaning in a different “zone” every week.

But why in the world doesn’t anybody come over when my whole house is clean?

Instead, my house fills up on Sundays and Wednesdays when I’ve been doing church and school projects and trying to fit the baby’s socks on the 5-year old and getting 3 and a half heads of hair fixed and diaper bags packed and 40 fingernails clipped. I faithfully wash dishes – lots of them! But anytime anyone drops over, there seems to be a sink (or two) full.

Tell you what……You’re all invited to come over on a Friday or Saturday evening after my “Home Blessing” when the whole house is tidy at the same time.

Really, though - David can vouch that one of the top things I agonize over is people seeing my house when it is in its “lived-in” state. Bills on the desk. Dishes in the sink. Toys on the floor. Crumbs on the table. But nobody bothers to look under my bed and comment how nice it looks without any dust or clutter (I’m in the master bedroom zone this week.)

So this morning when I couldn’t sleep, it dawned on me that I have GOT to come to terms with the fact that I am going to live in a sometimes or often messy house for the next 10-15 years! We’re constantly training our kids to clean up after themselves (who would know!). I work hard at keeping house and will continue. But spending quality time with them and having a happy mama are so much more important than impressing you. Why can’t I get that through my thick skull?

One reason is that I’ve been deeply hurt by gossip, so I don’t trust people to be kind anymore. The other reason is that all of your houses seem to be so company-ready when I come over! The other reason is that I’m just more peaceful when everything is put away. But I’m trying to learn that I have got to accept that the days of babies and diapers and toys come with a large dose of realness.

So I wrote this poem for myself and my guests…..my first step in coming to grips with my real house. I plan to frame it and hang it in a prominent place in my entryway. Enjoy! :)
____________________________________________________
Our House
Our house is clean - we sweep and dust
and put away and mop
But it is rarely perfect
from bottom to the top!

You see, we’re busy living here -
We read and dance and sing
And give our hands to little ones –
the most important thing!

So if it gives you worries
that you see things on our floor
You may just want to turn around
and walk back out that door!
I'm in a paranoid mood (probably because it's 11:18, I'm still up trying to get things done, I'm behind on my sleep and I left my vitamins and happy pills in Cincy at my mom's), and I've always tended to apologize all over myself. So here go my disclaimers for the night.
#1 The purpose of this blog is NOT to gripe about visitors. I LOVE friendly visitors. Please visit me. (Call first so I can throw everything in a laundry basket and light a candle real quick. Thanks, Char, for this great advice.)
#2 I do not always (or ever) have a perfect house. Nor is it a junkyard. It is real. It is lived-in. It is happy.
#3 I'm sorry if you're offended or grossed out because I said p**p on the internet in a recent post.
#4 I'm sorry if I wear you out by my real-life posts. I'm really a very happy person and enjoy life immensely. But I tend to want to share my thoughtful thoughts if I ever think some. Not in any way trying to hang out "soiled laundry", as they say.
#5 I'm sorry for saying I'm sorry so much. : )
#6 I have a friend who shares my affinity for apologizing. When he was little, he worked out a system with his family. He'd go from one to the next saying "BEEP....BEEP" They understood that it was shorthand for: "I'm- sorry- for- anything- I- said- or- maybe- did- that- I- shouldn't- have- today."
BEEP.....BEEP
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