A Home Where Children Live

One of the things that has alarmed me the most about being a stay-at-home mom has been the amount of time it takes to keep the house somewhat under control. And by somewhat I mean no food or juice spilled on the floor, no markers splayed casually across the table, no dirty diapers overflowing from the stinky pail. Realistically, keeping toys picked up is an impossibility.

When Kolbe was a baby and I was back at work, I never realized how time consuming keeping up with the household was. We'd get home from work around 5:30 and eat dinner, play for an hour or two, and then off to bed. Our routine barely gave him any time to destroy the house. Now that not only are they home ALL day long, but there's two of them too, it's a constant battle to keep the carpet visible and the table void of some form of food dried to it. And don't even ask if I keep my children perfectly cleaned throughout the day. Does the word 'rag-a-muffin' mean anything to you? We use it frequently in our home.

A week or so ago, my sister-in-laws Abby and Casey and I were in a maternity store. For once, I wasn't shopping and had time to relax for a minute or two while they were trying on clothes. The store we were in had a neat little area set up for kids to play in while their mamas shopped. On the wall behind the play area, the following was displayed:

This is a Home Where Children Live
You may not find things all in place,
Friend, when you enter here.
But we’re a home where children live,
We hold them very dear.

And you may find small fingerprints
And smudges on the wall.
When the kids are gone, we’ll clean them up,
Right now we’re playing ball.

For there’s one thing of which we’re sure,
These children are on loan.
One day they’re always underfoot,
Next thing you know, they’re gone.

That’s when we’ll have a well-kept house,
When they’re off on their own.
Right now, this is where children live,
A loved and lived-in home.

I just loved this little poem! These words couldn't be truer about our house. I don't even try to pretend like we've got it all together here. Heck, our entire family room is a "what's what" of toddler toys and our mantle proudly displays not beloved family photos, but toys that have been taken away for their misuse as weapons of brotherly destruction.

But as the poem says, there's far too little time to waste every waking moment cleaning up the evidence of our day-to-day activities. And even if there were enough time, I don't know that I'd want to wipe it all away. There's something so precious about seeing Kolbe's little scribble marks on construction paper proudly taped haphazardly to the wall or Reagan's blankies and rattles piled high in the middle of the kitchen floor. They call out to me as if to say, Yes, we're a mess, but stop! Think about it! You have a mess! That means you have two beautiful, happy, loved boys who are growing, learning, experiencing, and enjoying life! Be thankful!

After all, on a day to day basis, who am I trying to impress? As a mother, truly my only audience is these boys and God. And I'm pretty sure both the boys and God could care less about whether the floor has been mopped today or not.