little reminders that I'm living the good life

Like many of you I struggle to keep an orderly house. There is always was one mess after another, and I only have two children to follow. Each child has their own cleaning responsibilities and our system works fairly well. Yet I still get frustrated returning to a room that was just cleaned to find it strewn with toys. "Another mess to clean," I think to myself. One day I started to look closely as the mess that I thought was haphazardly placed through out the room. It was a battle scene, one of Zayne's many. The apparent thought that was taken to create each little scenario within the battle impressed me. I didn't see a mess after that but the evidences of a young boy with a lively imagination. I do not want him loose that imagination and wonder as he grows older. I now let him keep his little, creative messes out for longer periods and relish in the imagination and the focus it takes to construct such wonderlands. I have even started to photograph his creations so they are easier for us both to see taken apart.

Another time I was in the kitchen after the evening straightening routine and the children were in bed. Relaxing and pulling Dan in for an embrace I noticed a flaw in the my orderly room. A khaki colored army man was hiding out in one of my plants with his gun aimed toward us. I pushed aside my initial annoyment, laughed, and became grateful for the reminder of the playful little boy tucked up in bed. So now whenever I can sense aggravation for things left about the house I remind myself that I am blessed. I am blessed to have a little girl that played with that doll on the couch. I am blessed that she still wants to play with all those stuffed animals on her floor too. The balls in the yard remind me that my children are healthy enough to play. The book left in the tree tells me that my children love to read. The dirt by the door left by little feet makes me grateful that those little feet enjoy the outdoors. The stuffed duck wrapped in the newspaper, plastic bag, tucked in on the shoe shelf tells me that I am blessed because. . . it shows their creativity? (I wonder what was going through their minds on that one)? I often tell myself, "Having these blessed, messy reminders is easier to live with then without." Then I can holler in my best June Cleaver voice, "Joshi, Zayne. Please come pick up your stuff." I wait. "One . . . Two. . ."