Are they both revolting?
For me, they are both revolting.
As I stood before my dirty kitchen a few days ago, with rolled up sleeves and gloved hands, a wave of acceptance rushed over me. “Accept my lot, Heather. This is it. Get over it. Move on it with. You don’t have to love it, but do it, and do it without complaining” the quiet whispery voice said to me in my moment of contempt.
Every night I tell my children to put on their pajamas because bedtime is inching up on them and beckoning them to slow down and rest their tired eyes. And then, every single night, I hear, “I HATE bedtime..waa-waa-waa-waa!!“.
Denver jokes that “bedtime Daxx” hates his bed, but “morning Daxx” loooovees his bed. No truer words have been spoken. Daxx loathes bed time. No matter how I explain the need for rest, his mind will not change. I have been fighting the bedtime battle with this child for 5 1/2 years, and I still don’t have an answer.
Well, “bedtime Daxx” I feel your pain because guess what… I HATE the dishes…AND… I HATE the laundry. There. I said it. I just do.
But gracious. The longer I am a mother, the more I realize these things I hate have a tendency to grow larger and larger… things like:
-my laundry pile
-the stack of dirty dishes
-my lack of sleep
-the puddles of pee on the bathroom floor
-the crumbs in my couch cushions
-the stains on my carpet
At some point I must wave my white flag and surrender to the facts that I don’t live in a perfectly clean home, all my laundry will NEVER be done, a dirty dish will always survive despite my best efforts, and my bathroom will smell like pee for the next 18 years….so invest in awesome candles.
I have learned that the laundry I loath is evidence of fun had and a life lived.
I have learned that the dishes are testimony to food shared and memories made.
I have learned that the stains are Ebenezer stones of accidents mostly made by little hands.
I have learned that the crumbs are left by children who are free to be themselves in the walls of our home.
I have learned to embrace the lot I have been given, and to remember that when I complain about the byproduct of the lives God has entrusted me with, I am insulting the Creator. The one who is gently telling me to “get over it” and simply live without complaining.
Thanks for reading.