I cleaned part of you today. It was an accident. I threw some chicken stock ingredients into a pot on the stove and then absent mindedly cleared off the island and wiped off the counters. Somehow a broom got into my hands and then a vacuum. Now I don’t even recognize you. Where are the teetering piles of books and pens and coloring pages? Where is that mysterious smell that’s kinda sorta reminiscent of pumpkin guts? This can’t be the same gritty floor I walked over this morning, can it? Who lives here?
There was a time when I used to clean you a lot. But you were different then. It was back when we were in another state and the boys were in public school and Grace still took naps. Ah, the glory days.
Now you get no respect. I mumble about your white walls and your strange layout. I leave things piled up and uncared for. Let’s not even talk about your backyard. That’s the dog’s fault, not mine.
I let the kids clean you and, let’s face it, all they really do is pile stuff around and shove things into closets. They’re not fooling anyone. And then I went off and committed to a 31 day writing challenge and all hope was lost. Fear not, dear home, the end is near. A time is coming when I will once again maybe hopefully clean you and fill you with yummy smells. You won’t be forced to live this way forever.
I’ll invite people to fill you up with warmth and laughter and joy. In the wee hours, I’ll sit in your quiet rooms, there will be singing and holidays. There are better things to come.
Hang in there for one more day,