Countdown is on

Sixteen hours from now I become a mom again.

While I miss them and the life they bring to this house, I also love the time I am given every Christmas to be something other than a mom. Like; I can be a housecleaner.

All November and December I promised myself that I would deal with the growing piles of mess and dust that were accumulating in hidden corners all over the house. Dare I say I was even looking forward to waging a war against the enemy? "Out" I would say to the dirt and dirty laundry. "Be gone," I would cry to the splotches on the floor. "Smell nice," I would challenge the bedding on my boys beds.

I would win. Be victorious. Be free. Free from the cringing that happens whenever someone takes a peak into my pantry. Or glances into my garage. Or expresses desire to see the flooring on the bedroom floors.

I would clean this house to within an inch of it's life. And it would appreciate it. It would bask in the attention and glow with pride. The glow would be so intense, residents of Walnut Grove would complain. And petition for me to turn off the glow.

But then..
Uh...
I was invited out.
To coffee.
Everyday.
Sometimes twice.
When the boys are away, Jane can play.
And, well, I did.

I just got back from a long, wonderfully satisfying visit with a friend who looks alot like me. But thinner. (She's the thinner one. Think "Bonnie Hunt" with nicer eyes.) After one year of trying to fit a coffee into our typcially busy schedules, we finally made it work.

So.
I've got alot (2 months worth) of cleaning to do tonight.
I will start with the dining room table. Then do my annual debugging of the boys' room.
I may need to sleep for a few hours before I tackle the pyramid of papers teetering on my desk.

I'm cramming.
I'm cramming for an exam at the last minute instead of spreading out the studying I could have done all week.
And I so want an "A".

But who cares?
What would an "A" mean?
And who is doing the marking?
The kids sure don't care about a clean room. Or a clean house.

I could probably ask to have the test rescheduled for a later date. No need to have it all cleaned for tomorrow.


Right,
they can clean their own rooms.
And I don't need the dining room table for anything. This way, with it holding all those photo albums and leftover wrapping paper snippets, it feels useful. Like it's contributing to the day to day needs of our home. Otherwise, it may feel, oh, I don't know, used? Like we only have a use for it when we have company over and need a big beautiful table to eat our meal at? It would feel like a trophy wife? Or like something we just show off, but don't love?

So, OK then. In order not to hurt the dining room table's feelings, I will purposely leave my things on it for another month. Because I'm sensitive that way.

Three things I'm thankful for:
1. L- o -n - g conversations.
2. Yay. I got a raise!
3. I am a mom.

Shalom,