I know the time is coming soon where we will not all be under the same roof, but I pray we don’t lose the closeness that we have nurtured within our walls.
By Jenny Beatrice
I admit it. My house is a mess.
My house holds six people from three generations, two pets, one shower and all of our stuff. Stuff that resides in odd and inappropriate places. Underwear can be found in the living room. The dining room table is hidden under mountains of things, not one of them being a dish. Cords and coins are everywhere and yet we are always seem to be low on phone power and on cash. Where did we get all this stuff and why can’t we find a place to put it?
To function, I clear a path, don’t look too close and carry on. Yes, I have caved. Although I have a great desire to eat off my bathroom floor, our schedules are busy. The kids are messy. And when we are home together, I don’t want to spend my time sorting through the hoard, which inevitably leads to yelling as I find my missing thingamajig or an unidentifiable object at the bottom of the pile.
With the Thanksgiving weekend ahead, I am feeling optimistic. I plan to don my Mr. Clean whites, clean up and scale down. I am more excited about clearing out the refrigerator than filling it with turkey and potatoes. Even my greatest of accomplishments cannot match the satisfaction I will feel after finishing and folding the laundry.
Deep in dust, I am also full of gratitude. Our home is overflowing with togetherness, conversation, laughter and love. Kitchen traffic jams become quick hugs. Nicknames replace our given names and titles; the pets have so many names we forget what we called them in the first place. Talks about schedules end with punch lines. Talks about life lessons end in punch lines, too.
I know the time is coming soon where we will not all be under the same roof, but I pray we don’t lose the closeness that we have nurtured within our walls. I will keep this in my mind and in my heart during the Big Thanksgiving Clean.
So when I pick up someone’s school papers, I will read them instead of throwing them away. When I find old pairs of kids’ pants in the laundry that haven’t been worn for two years, I will picture my children in them, remembering how much they have changed and how much they haven’t. And when I pile up the dirty dishes, I will be thankful for the food we had to put on them. And maybe, I will find that I don’t want to clean it all up after all.
My cornucopia is overflowing. And for that, I am grateful