The art of being home.

I folded 7 loads of laundry yesterday.  I painstakingly folded and made beautiful piles of clean clothes…on my couch.  Yesterday.  As I stare at the piles now on my couch, I am saddened slightly.   They are no longer beautifully folded into neat columns of clean clothes.  They have been rummaged through for clean underwear and unstained pants.  They are slowly falling haphazardly onto the floor of my living room. 


I should have put them in their respective drawers.  I should have spent my morning sorting and filing away all the clean clothes.  I should have at the very least, taken them upstairs and put them on the beds of who they belong to.  After all that, I should have spent more time doing the dishes and cleaning my bathrooms.  I should have mopped my hallways, and vacuumed the area rugs.  

Oh god – the dog.  She smells terrible.  She needs a good scrub down.  While I’m thinking about it, I should have cleaned out the litter boxes down in the basement.  In the basement, I should have cleaned up the screws my husband spilled three days ago. 

But I didn’t do any of it.  I was ashamed.  I felt terrible.  What the hell did I do all day?  Seriously, what could have been more important then all these chores?

I played.  I played with my kids the majority of the morning.  We took a nap and when we woke up, we watched the movie, Elf, and played some more.  We pretended to be kitty cats and puppy dogs.  We chased each other around the house with cardboard swords.  We laughed.  I tickled and kissed.  I hugged and whispered I love you in their ears.  We talked about how things work and why things happen. 

They told me I was their best friend.  I reminded them that I am the mommy not the best friend.   But I loved every single second of it.  I smiled more today then I ever smiled doing dishes.  I laughed harder at terrible knock knock jokes then I could ever laugh staring at the piles of laundry.  Although those piles are starting to become humorous. 

When my husband gets home from work and asks what we did all day.  I’ll tell him, we had fun.  We enjoyed the rainy gloomy December day.  I didn’t stress about writing, cleaning, money once.  I lived like a kid for one day.  And it was glorious.  Our children played.  I played.  It was an amazing day…

Tomorrow I am seriously considering putting the laundry away.


One thought on “The art of being home.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s