My mess

I’m writing from under my favorite quilt with my youngest snuggled in my arms. The quilt was my great-grandmother’s. It’s tattered and falling apart but I can’t bring myself to stop using it. It was an unusually cool night here last night and being the cold-natured thing that I am I’m certain that it’s below zero in this house. Thus the quilt in the middle of June.

Raz is breathing softly as I peck away at the keys and the house is quiet. My newest little man pretty much insists on being held, all day, every day. He insists on being held by either mom or dad. While we haven’t let many people attempt to hold him he usually cries when we do.

Every once in a while I look around my messy house (and I mean truly messy, not like when you go over to your friend’s house and they’re like “excuse the mess” and you’re thinking “seriously, where’d you stash the ten person cleaning crew?” No, seriously, my house is a mess and sometimes it’s a complete disaster) and I think that we should really start teaching him to be content on his own, to not be held because I mean, look at this place. Then I look at him and I remember that the pile of clean laundry that constantly rotates on the kitchen table, the stacks of books on the floor by my man’s chair, the toys strewn all over the place, and even the floor that desperately needs to be swept really just plain don’t matter.

He wants me to hold him. What an incredible privilege. He knows me. He knows it’s me and he wants me. Who cares if the house is a mess?

A few nights ago I took Isaiah on a date. He opened doors for me like a gentleman. We are trying to teach him how to treat women. He takes to it like a fish to water with his willing little heart. We went to dinner and played tic-tack-toe while we waited for our meal, then we went to the movies. He held my hand and rested his head on my shoulder while we watched.

In the midst of the busy and the expectations of this world I have to remember what is important. In a flash they could be gone. People say this all of the time but most don’t know what it’s like. They really could. One day we were playing at the park with Damon, three days later he was dead. I would give anything to have him back. He's gone, forever.

So, when you come over know this: my house will be a mess, it may even be a disaster and I’m ok with that because I hope against hope that my kids will be able to say “My house was a mess growing up cuz my Mom was too busy hanging out with me.”

Until next time…