Remnants

I am the type of person that doesn't function well in clutter.  I'm not a cat.  I can't be comfortable laying amongst a pile of papers like it's a feather pillow.  I am a firm believer in everything having a place and getting rid of it, if it does not.

As of late, it only seems that my house is clean from the nightly pick up, and naturally in the morning as well because nobody is yet awake to destroy it.  Every hour in between has proven to be a labyrinth.  I feel like that little metal ball having to dodge walls and mounds of stuff that will trip me up and stand obnoxiously in my way.  I just wanna get from Point A to Point B in a direct and efficient way.

Sharing with you all of my anal retentiveness, I will now let you know that I have tried these past few days to really take joy in the clutter.   Not the literal piles. More of what they represent.  Instead of peering into the living room with anxiety, I began to look at each item and revel in how thankful I am that I have children to pick up after.   It's actually kind of cute to see where things drop.  It gives a glimpse of where my children have been and what they've been enjoying and building throughout the day. 

The trail of blocks leads to my children's hearts.  The books that lie in disarray prove my children's intelligence and intrigue.  The mass gathering of bouncy balls in the corner shows their mischief as they ambush Justin and I and laugh until they can't hardly breathe.  The pile of muddled blankets and the overturned chairs and random boxes explain their imagination and love of tents and tee pees.

So from now on, when cleaning isn't feasible in the moment, I will try as hard as I can to cherish the remnants of my beautiful boys, knowing that someday they will no longer live under our roof, creating, exploring, loving, and playing.  So for now I will gladly take it!