I didn’t get around to the laundry this weekend.
The boys’ hamper is overflowing. Literally. There is an assortment of super heroes all gazing up at me forlornly from the bedroom floor. There is an epic battle between the Legos raging on the run down dresser I’ve been meaning to paint for months now– headless horsemen by the hundred.
I didn’t get around to cleaning the kitchen or re-organizing the kid’s play area. There are boxes I meant to sort through and toys I meant to pitch and they’re all still lining the hallway higgledy piggeldy.
There are leaves that didn’t get raked and the three lawn chairs we’ve been meaning to move into the garage for weeks. They’re still braving the cold outside. Along with the patio umbrella.
I didn’t find that missing library book – the one I can’t even remember checking out.
I didn’t make a list of Christmas gifts or address the Christmas cards I ordered a couple weeks ago. I didn’t buy that twin bed sheet that is long overdue for a boy whose bed needs as much help in the freshness department as possible.
I meant to pick up the wild collection of plastic weapons that decorate our front lawn because we’re the house in the neighborhood that hosts the armies of kids who use the back yard as their battlefield. But they’re all still out there. A weird polka dots of plastic blues, oranges, yellows and reds.
And there are socks by the dozen that still aren’t matched.
I had to call Peter tonight to warn him what he was coming home to, because that level of chaos can quite take the breath away.
So I told him what we did do.
I told him that we danced tonight.
Three bare-chested children to the wail of South African anthems beat their chests and their drums and their feet to the music as their mom watched to the beat of her own busting heart.
There was cutting of paper that left a rainbow trail across the dining room and into the kitchen. There were purple glue sticks and improvised drum sticks. There were shoes and shirts tried on and discarded and repurposed and then left again in all the places they shouldn’t have been.
It was loud. And we feasted on cheese and crackers and each other.
Some days, most days, the list of chores is long and it needs to get done because we need to be ready and organized for the week. So we go, go, go and we do, do, do and there isn’t always room for dancing.
But some days? Some days I wipe everything off the list and put my feet up on the sofa and crank up the music. Because some days I remember I’m more than the house cleaner in this joint. Some days I remember that I’m a joy bringer.
I’m a dance partner.
I’m a drum aficionado.
I’m a candy lover.
I’m an artist-in-residence.
I’m a renaissance mom if I want to be to the three tiny humans I’m raising.
And by gosh, some nights that means there won’t be clean dishes.
…but there will be dancing.Leave a Comment