Friday, July 15, 2011

Copings of Neat Freak

My windows and doors are smudged with fingerprints.

My bare feet feel the scrape of crumbs and sand when I walk across our hardwoods.

There's spilled milk from cereal bowls still on the dining room table.

The dishwasher has not been unloaded.

Dishes sit in the sink.

Condensation from my iced latte pools the kitchen countertops.

When I'm not looking she scoops the yogurt with her hands.

Toys are strewn on the porch floor.

The sheets on the kids' beds are rumpled.

Whose home is this anyway?  Who have I, self-proclaimed neat freak, become?

She's still in there.  I let her come out every Wednesday when the house is, for a brief moment in time, restored to the state I prefer it in.

The mantle is dusted.

Dust bunnies vacuumed.

Sheets, crisp.

Towels, anew.

Windows wiped clear.

Bathtub grime be gone.

Floors scrubbed.  On hands and knees.

I thought adding more mess-makers to this family would multiply to my stress.  Visions of me chasing after dirty feet with damp paper towels swirled through my head.  Instead I calmly remind them to take off their shoes and remind myself that Wednesday will come.

And when Thursday morning comes I can wake up and say, "What do you want to do today?!"

I've created a new me.  A mish mash of who I am and who I need to be.  Satisfying the order that brings my calm and allowing calm when order is out to lunch.

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