It’s a bit messy…so what?!

Little Miss Gigli is napping. There is SO much to do around the house. Laundry is overflowing. Bathrooms need cleaned. The lawn needs mowed. The list goes on and on. I look around and feel completely overwhelmed by the fact that there just isn’t enough time to get it all done.

Then I look at Little Miss Gigli’s messy playroom…

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…and the shoes by the front door.

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And instead of seeing a mess, I see beauty.

I see Little Miss Gigli’s imagination at work in her playroom. I see both of my girls going out for adventures in those shoes. I see their childhood.

It’s moments like these that things start to shift into perspective for me. One day, Ziti and I will have a disgustingly clean, immaculate house because the girls will be out with their friends. Going off to college. Starting families of their own.

One day, I will not be tripping over Dusty the Airplane in the middle of the floor. One day, I will miss it.

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Note: Dusty is also a Lego. Super painful.

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2 thoughts on “It’s a bit messy…so what?!

  1. This was copied from a calendar and on my Refrigerate when you and your brothers were younger until 10 years ago.
    quiet down, cobwebs & dust go to sleep. i’m rocking my baby & babies don’t keep.

  2. The complete poem
    Song for a Fifth Child
    by Ruth Hulburt Hamilton
    Mother, oh Mother, come shake out your cloth,
    Empty the dustpan, poison the moth,
    Hang out the washing and butter the bread,
    Sew on a button and make up a bed.
    Where is the mother whose house is so shocking?
    She’s up in the nursery, blissfully rocking.
    Oh, I’ve grown shiftless as Little Boy Blue
    (Lullaby, rockaby, lullaby loo).
    Dishes are waiting and bills are past due
    (Pat-a-cake, darling, and peek, peekaboo).
    The shopping’s not done and there’s nothing for stew
    And out in the yard there’s a hullabaloo
    But I’m playing Kanga and this is my Roo.
    Look! Aren’t her eyes the most wonderful hue?
    (Lullaby, rockaby, lullaby loo).
    The cleaning and scrubbing will wait till tomorrow,
    For children grow up, as I’ve learned to my sorrow.
    So quiet down, cobwebs. Dust go to sleep.
    I’m rocking my baby and babies don’t keep

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