I keep meaning to write more. It's not that I don't have a lot to say. I could write a novel with all of the ideas floating in around in my crazy brain right now. But it all takes time. Everything takes time. And maybe I'm not doing the best job at using my time wisely. But I'm trying. And I really do want writing to be a priority, but its hard for me to do it at the end of the day when things slow down and the kids are in bed and I haven't seen the Hubs since last night at this time. I tend to glance at the computer and then across the room at the ever present overflowing laundry baskets waiting to be folded and the sink full of dirty dishes and drywall that still needs taping and mudding and the walls that are still cat-pee ivory and the floors that are covered in pawprints and milk splashes and crumbs even though I *just* washed them like 2 hours before. I think about the laundry that needs to get transfered from the washer to the dryer, this never ending dirty to clean cycle that is my life.
I feel like I spend all day every day just trying to make things clean. Over and over and over. And I'm always failing. I clean the house and the clothes and I sweep pine needles from the deck and pick up the turds on the lawn and keep the bad shows off the television and try so hard to teach love and be love. But everything always keeps getting dirty. The kids spill, the trees drop more leaves, the dogs keep pooping, the frustration and fear creep in and muddy the heart and mind. And I'm still walking around with the mop and I don't even bother unplugging the vacuum anymore and doesn't everyone have laundry piling up somewhere? And even though I swore I'd slow down and do it better next time, I still yelled at the boy and I still cursed under my breath when the girl yet again refused to eat anything.
So I sweep the cobwebs from the chandelier and vacuum under the bed for the first time in a month and how is it already that gross? And the washer keeps beeping incessantly and I'm cleaning the toilet for the umpteenth time this week already and I swore I wouldn't let it all get to me this time. But then the teacher needs to talk to me after school and the girl still refuses to eat or put on pants and its not time for dinner and God, please, when can it be bedtime because I'm about to lose it with everything. I'm just trying so hard to keep it all clean. The house, the yard, the kids, the heart. It is exhausting, all this cleaning all of the time.
And it's still not bedtime and I'm seething and wondering how wrong I must be doing everything? Because not everyone has dishes piled high every day or laundry baskets overflowing. And I know I have girlfriends who don't even own TVs and probably don't yell at their kids and everyone wears pants everyday and where did they get this superpower? So I try cleaning it all out again, these dirty spots in my house and in my heart. But nothing ever just stays nice and pretty, does it? The dust collects so fast. And the anger flashes when things don't go as planned. And it's all so frustrating and exhausting and lonely. What am I doing wrong?
But I've written before that there is beauty that comes from brokenness and does that mean I should be able to find beauty in the mess of toys strewn across the floors? Beauty in the muddy pawprints tracking down my hall? Where is this beauty in the hot mess that I become when I lose it? And now that I'm calm and cool and everything is quiet and my chair is facing out the window so I can't see the sink or the laundry baskets or the pawprints and the babies are sleeping and the boy is at school and right now in this second when I am sane and clear, I can see that there is beauty in it all. The blessings in having toys. And clothes. And floors. I am so grateful for the abundance we have. But is there even beauty in me? When I'm a hot mess of anger and frustration and tears? I think so. Because this is where I see the grace. I am loved, even when I'm a crappy person. HE loves me, even though He sees every speck of dirt in my heart. And the boy and the girl and the Hubs still love me even though I lose it and go all crazy woman on them more often than I'd like to admit. They offer forgiveness and grace and love. And it overwhelms me, this beauty here, where things seem so messy and raw and ugly so often.
So I continue to clean. This never ending cycle of dirty to clean to dirty and back to clean, it will never end here. Perfect just doesn't happen on this side of paradise. But there is a yearning to make it beautiful, to make it good. So I'll keep trying and I know I'll keep failing, but I'll press on.