When a mess piles up, my brain shuts down. It overwhelms me. When I find myself staring at three baskets full of clean (I think) laundry that needs to be folded, I don't even know where to begin. I know you are probably thinking, "Um, it starts by picking up that shirt and folding it." But, that's not what my brain tells me to do. When I stand before a huge mess, my palms get sweaty and there's a voice in my mind saying "run far, far away", as if not even the cleaning performance of a lifetime could get me out of this one. It's as if the laundry monster is larger than I am, and I don't even want to take him on.
I like rooms to be clean and clear of debris, and when they aren't, I'd honestly just rather not go in them, not even to clean up. Another sad truth? I'm also a pack rat. Case and point, I have a cute little blue and white striped summer dress hanging in my closet that a friend gave to me in September... of last year. I have never worn it. It's a size two, and I thought to myself, this dress will be my reward for getting back into shape, because a size two, I am not... yet. The flaw in that logic? I can only remember one time in my entire life that I was able to fit into a size 2 dress. I was thirteen years old, attending the sport's banquet after a long basketball season. Needless to say, I was in tip top shape, and the fact that I didn't have hips yet probably helped tremendously. Come to think of it, that dress may have been a size 3. Either way, I still couldn't breathe. I have since gained two children, and thirty pounds. Seriously, Della, get rid of the dress!
So, being a perfectionist and a pack rat, what does that mean for a stay-at-home mama of two
Upon discovering all of the little "surprises" that they leave for me, God is teaching me grace, to give it as I have received it, and so, as I walk barefoot through a puddle of pee, I tell myself, "Don't yell this time." As I stroll through the house picking up the toys that have been dumped out so that they could play pirate ship with the toy basket, and I come face to face with a "dragon", five feet long, drawn on the wall, I take a deep breath, close my eyes, and through gritted teeth I pray, "Dear Lord, please remind me that children are a blessing from heaven..." (Note to self: Next time, don't ignore Brandon's request for more paper, no matter how busy you are!)
Or, as was true in my most recent "discovery", I simply cry.
Yesterday, from the very start of the day, I had a glaring pain in my head that I was hoping and praying wouldn't become a migraine. And sure enough, it did. While nap time is early in our house, around 10:30, I told myself to just stick it out until then, and then I could rest while they were asleep. But as anyone who has ever suffered a migraine knows, "sticking it out" becomes quite a feat, one that I was losing. And so, around 9:30, I thought to myself, I'll just put on a DVD for the boys, and I'll go to my room and close my eyes for a few minutes. I had no intention of falling asleep, and my door was left open so that I could still listen out for them. I must have gotten too comfortable laying down, snuggled up under my heavy blankets in that cool, dark room. My eyes popped open to what felt like 10, maybe 15 minutes later. I looked at the clock, and it was 11:00 a.m.! Panic, shear panic, set in as I realize that I had fallen asleep and left the children unsupervised for over an hour. As I sat up in bed, I look over to see that my door is now closed... Oh, no, what have they done? What have I done?
I jumped out of bed and as soon as I swung my door open, I see that the bathroom light is on, and as Noah is coming out with a big grin on his face, he sees me standing there, and with his grin turning to panic, he darts into the living room. Brandon is standing on the bathroom counter, happily sifting through the medicine cabinet. I don't keep medicine there, but that is where I keep a lot of beauty products and body sprays, supposedly out of their reach. Without even asking him what was going on, Brandon simply shouts, "Noah has it!" As I continue toward the living room, the smell of aerosol becomes increasingly evident. With Noah now hiding under the dining room table, I see, scattered across the floor, various bottles of body spray, hairspray, and oh yes, spray tan. I haven't used tanner in nearly a year, but once again, my pack rat tendencies have kept me hanging on to that last bottle that I may someday need, and now, my three year old is confessing to me, with pride, that he has spray tanned the sofa. I look at my sofa, and though I can't see tanner on its dark fabric, I do see large wet spots, and the smell of all those sprays was really doing a number on my migraine. And so, without saying a word, standing there before two little boys who were just waiting to see what kind of trouble they were in, the tears welled up in my eyes, and I just started to cry. It was really a moment of weakness, a bit of a pity party, and the confusion on top of the migraine as I wondered how I could really punish them if this was
Frustrated, I made my way to the kitchen and began making sandwiches, and they followed as I explained to them that they aren't allowed to break the rules just because Mommy isn't watching. As we got settled at the table, the boys were very quiet as they ate, and I was still sniffling when Brandon says, very softly, in his sweetest four year old voice, "Mommy, I'n sowwy for sfraying you stuff everywhere."
Ugh, melt my heart! And just when I would much rather sulk, I'm quickly reminded to forgive even the four year old. No sooner have I said, "Mommy loves you, Brandon, and I forgive you," does he pipe up again only to say, "But, Mommy, I'n sowwy just a wittle bit... not a big 'I'n sowwy', just a wittle one."
Without responding, I couldn't help but smile at his honesty and feel a swarm of love for these two crazy boys as they smacked on their ham and cheese without a care in the world, no remorse on their faces. I'm sure, some day, this will be something to look back on and laugh. But, right now, as I am sitting on a towel that's covering the couch that smells of spray tan... the couch that I got for free and can't afford to replace... right now it seems like it just isn't funny... yet.
I hope you took pictures. God taught me so much grace through my littles. I learned the hard way that if they were doing things like that then I needed to look at myself and always found that He had just shown me so much grace for an even bigger thing. And those stories-- now that my baby is 11 and my oldest is 15 we share those stories regularly and have a great laugh about it. usually they are about my middle child, "Do you remember the time Esther...?" But they bring our family together and draw us close. And now that my mom is gone and my brothers and I are grown, we still get together and share those stories, "Do you remember when you...?" "Do you remember how we....?" A perfect couch is remembered as a thing, a spray tanned, well loved, much used couch is remembered as a part of life.
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