For a just a few minutes I stand in the middle of my house and say.” This is good.”
The afternoon sun shines through the living room windows. The house plants are plump and healthy looking from their morning drink of water. I walk across the floor and do not feel grit on my bare feet. In the kitchen everything is in its place. It looks ready for cooking. No smells of dirty socks, used kitty litter, rotted refrigerator science experiments. Laundry catches a breeze on the line; a friendly wave from the house goddess.
It is still mid afternoon and there is a luxury ahead for me. I can actually sit and knit or read to Evan.
And just like that the moment is gone. Toys litter the floor, grass clippings are brought in on shoes. Kitty litter is tracked across the rug in the living room. Dinner is made. It starts all over again.What was once a a quaint domestic scene is now something out of an action thriller.
My mission, if I should choose to accept it, is to maintain a clean house during the week. This seems like it should be an easy task. But no. There are long days when I don't get home till 7:30. The first week of school behind us I feel like I am driving bumper cars; bouncing from one thing to another.
My heart is not the only one that beats in these four walls. I try to enlist the other bipeds help. One boy, the not so tall one, sorts recycling and returns the bin from the curb, he puts the silverware away, he helps to make dinner. He picks up his room sometimes easily; sometimes its like rangling a bucking bronco. The other boy, now man, washes dishes, takes the garbage out, does his laundry, attends to heavier chores like chopping and stacking wood.
My plan this last week was to do one thing everyday, at least, to stay ahead of the devolving state of the house. I cleaned the house on Sunday. Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday it felt like I was succeding. Counters cleared, table cleared, floor swept every day, cat poop scooped. All it took was one day. ONE DAY?? One very long day and it sorta went all to pot.
How does a house get messy if no one is home? I put this unanswerable question up there with some of the other great mysteries of life like...what is the meaning of life?
Okay...I do have one idea to all this. It comes to me at the writing of this post. It is 7:27 am. I could be sweeping the floor, washing a few dishes in the sink and instead I am here...clutter on the table has been pushed aside for the lap top, Evan is dozing up stairs. I should rouse him. I began this post at 7:10.
Twenty minutes of writing..hmm
writing or scopping cat poop? Is there really a choice there?
Getting real at Fleecenik Farm.