The three kids didn't cooperate with that idea. They had the audacity to sprinkle crumbs on my newly-mopped floor during breakfast and then demanded my undivided attention with puzzles and Dr. Seuss books. Baby Boy was cranky and tired and wanted to be held.
At first I was frustrated; I am the kind of person that loves a schedule, and I had it in my head that I was going to attack one "sector" of my house every day until it was done; these shenanigans were putting me off schedule.
Then Baby Boy fell asleep in my arms, and I forced myself to slow down and enjoy it. He's a beautiful child, and his hair is at that point where it's short and soft; his head just begs to be rubbed and kissed. So I gave in; I sat in the rocking chair, humming to him, giving him lots of kisses, and enjoying the sweet baby smell that comes with a freshly-washed infant. It's cliche, but there will always be dirt on the kitchen floor. There won't be many of these moments left for me, and I want to be sure I take the time to enjoy them, even if it means I don't meet my requisite cleaning goals. The fact that I even have a house to get dirty is an enormous blessing, but the perfect children that get it dirty in the first place are precious beyond words.
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