Neglected jobs and tea parties

Today is apparently a day for neglected jobs: cleaning trash cans, scrubbing the floor under large appliances, decluttering the top of my dryer.

The advent of Halloween and sticky gunk stuck to the sides and bottom of the trash cans is a sign that it is time. I only use a bag in the kitchen trash (the one all stickies are supposed to be tossed in), trying to be kind to our landfills. (or in attempt to off set the guilt of all the disposable diapers we've sent there over the past 91/2 years.) In spite of the yucky factor, it's a surprisingly rewarding task,creating an entirely new appreciation for the void and sparkling trash receptacles.

In the past, it's been customary to pull the big appliances out (washer, dryer, fridge, stove) in the last few weeks of my pregnancies. The hidden floors probably deserved to be scrubbed more often, but at least I was consistent. Since the whole nesting thing is a past chapter, I'm thinking a new routine will need to be established. I haven't figured that out yet, but the trash cans just put me in the mood, so maybe chewed and discarded gum is the trigger. At any rate, again, quite a rewarding job...can't see it, but you just know it's clean. That's nice.

The laundry room in our house is also the downstairs bathroom, and where I store cleaning supplies. The dryer has become one of the many collection spots. It collects spare change, combs and brushes, a variety of hair accessories, baseballs, empty detergent bottles awaiting rinse and recycle, nail clippers, plastic recorders, buttons and dust, among other items. The plan is to declutter this area and wipe it clean, but I've been side-tracked by a lovely tea-party hosted by my Sarah.

The dryer can wait...

An Ode to Laundry and other things I didn't figure in...

I dreamed about guitars and walks in the woods...and helping people. I dreamed about traveling to India or writing music and poetry. These were my grown-up dreams in college.

I loved college. I loved the soulful, beautiful people I met there. I loved the freedom of finding my passion in life. I loved my writing classes and my mentors. I loved being alone.

I did laundry in college...at the laundromat. Sometimes I used the campus laundromat. It was always full of fantastic people. Funny people, studying people, people folding jeans. I liked to sit on my dryer and just be with them all. Sometimes we'd go to an off-campus laundromat, toss our clothes in and run quick to the Baskin-Robbins next door for ice-cream.

I never dreamed about my future laundry. Laundry was not as dreamy as music and poetry...and certainly didn't have the altruistic pull of digging wells in third-world countries and feeding wide-eyed hungry children. My dreams were much more magnanimous than washing clothes.

A couple of years into college, my friends started pairing up. Some were getting engaged, some were getting married. I was reading Amy Carmichael books, contemplating a single life traveling to foreign countries to save the world, and writing. Do missionaries do laundry? A picture of humanitarian aid workers washing socks never entered my imagination...just dirt and sweat and pony-tails.

Then something entirely unsuspected happened. I fell crazy in love. Total misjudgment, I know. You just can't plan these things. One minute you're building your castle in the sky, next minute you're gazing into the blue eyes of your destiny. And you start dreaming together.

Ten years and four little blue-eyes later, dirt and sweat and pony tails are my reality. So is sock-washing. My dreams never really faded, they just evolved. In truth, they came in to focus. Writing and walking in the woods, seeing people loved and transformed...these are still at the core of my aspirations. Only now, I'm dressing a few of them in Halloween costumes and trying to remember to pre-treat the chocolate smudges before setting the wash cycle.

Not to say that there's never a tug-of-war between my dreams and the laundry, I feel it nearly everyday. I've just learned to love the challenge, to let it teach me. If the laundry is smothering my heart, I feel discontent trying to creep in. Patience with my children grows thin. Then I try to do exactly what I want my children to learn...shake my head, take a deep breath and have grace...on my growing self.

I'd choose the laundry again.

Choosing the Better (part two)

A few nights ago after getting the kids to bed, I walked downstairs and past the den where on the floor still lay a pile of clean clothes waiting to be folded and put away. I lamented , "Ohh, I still have to do the laundry." And my dear husband said, "If someone wrote a comic book about you, your arch-enemy would be the laundry and the dishes." I just laughed and said, "You're right," and curled up next to him on the couch. The laundry was still on the floor in the morning, but it is not there today.

I will not let what is undone steal my joy for the moment.

Choosing the Better (part one)

This is poetry that leaked out onto my page in a quiet moment last week:

The earth is still when a baby sleeps
and mother rests
but the chattering of little children
and the laughter of tiny voices
do not cease.

This, of course was written with the sound of little voices in the background playing quietly while mom took a little rest.

And then....as thoughts progressed:

I do not have the energy to clean
I used to clean because I felt I must
keep home and hearth perfectly spotless.
I used to clean because I thought
a perfect home reflected a peaceful heart--not so.

Now I am older and I long for the younger
Me.

A peaceful self who sat and pondered, sang and wrote
A peaceful self who walked and soaked-in life-surrounding,
then longing more for grace and truth.

My children have not met her.
My husband has not seen her for a very
long
time.