0 comments | published by Linda | May 06, 2012
He thinks I'm silly. Maybe it's true. Once I have scrubbed, vacuumed, dusted, and even picked up the smashed  blueberries that everyone has pretended not to see, I want the world to stop. I want that moment where I can feel its all perfect, clean and complete. I know this moment is short as it doesn't take long for my people to drop popcorn on the floor, spread their shoes across the room and mess up my pillows on the sofa.

Carpet angels. That's all I ask for. I request that he take my little people out in order for me to smell the Pinesol and make carpet angels on my carpet that still shows the vacuum lines.

Is there a chance I have lost sight of what matters? Have I forgotten who this is all about? I admit it. I like clean, probably more than most. Yet, if I notice my eyes are looking for perfection, I will most definitely not notice the people that matter to me most. My people are messy. Once I clean the room, they suddenly decide that's where they want to be. The open spaces must call to them for Legos, dolls, and yes, dirty socks.

As I watch them fill the house with friends, toys, and crazy, I remember that this is where my eyes should be. Once my eyes are not focused on the petty messes, and what this explosion of toys might mean for me, I can return to loving them

I work to provide a home for them where they can truly live it up. When on the sofa, or building castles on the carpet, they are actually drinking in my presence, finding joy in me. I can smile as I know this is everything I work for, and it is good.

Like my dinner table set with flowers, polka dot napkins and colorful plates, it's not perfect until there has been laughter, pots are emptied, plates made messy, crumbs scattered and napkins crumpled on the floor. This is perfect. 

When I look at their faces as they transform the living room into a play land, the carpet lines disappear, but are replaced by my angels.
Posted in Kitchen & Dining, Living Room    |   Tags: Carpet Angels
0 comments | published by Linda | December 22, 2011

Pride was spilling from her face almost as much as the fruit loops were rolling from the bowl. She made it herself. Nothing could possibly taste as good to her as her accomplishment felt. 

I praised her for a job well done as I began to picture the condition of the kitchen. It had probably been through as much as a kitchen possibly could go through. Yet, what really mattered was the fact that she made it herself. Right?

She maybe had two bites. In the time it took her to put it together, she must have lost her appetite.

I made my way into the kitchen. An opened milk bottle sat beside two puddles slowly dripping to the floor. Three dish towels were left piled in a wad on the floor as though they were helping to clean the mess. Thirty or so fruit loops were spread across the counter. For some mysterious reason, most cupboards were left opened around the room. What could she have possibly been looking for?

I suppose I could make the kitchen off limits. I could insist that my children aren't allowed to prepare food. Yet, would they ever know the fun of the kitchen? Do I want them to know how to help, or would I just rather do it all myself? Sure, it's much more simple to just do it, but those fruit loops rolling to the floor are reminders that nothing could possibly taste as good to her as her accomplishment felt. 

Posted in Kitchen & Dining    |   Tags: Fruit Loops
0 comments | published by Linda | December 19, 2011

I admit, my pile of stuff was toppling down on every side. I like to shop. Apparently, I overwhelmed the checker. The receipt was spilling out over the register, then stopped in order to crinkle for a moment, frustrating him even more. 

After he had pulled everything through, the screen showed that change was due back to me. Yet, I hadn't paid. What a pickle. He quickly scrambled around trying to figure out how to find my total. He was getting squirmy as he noticed the line behind me was getting less patient. He mumbled something, grabbed a pen, and proceeded to work out the math problem on his own. This wasn’t looking too promising.

The receipt was blank. He looked over at my shopping cart filled with bags that I had strategically packed, and proceeded to tell me that he would need to run everything through again. Awesome. But then he realized he couldn't get the register to clear the first transaction. What to do...what to do... 

He wiped his forehead, looked around, and reluctantly flipped the switch that made the light above us flash. Standing still, he waited. He had hit the panic button. Now, it was out of his hands.

A fast moving, busy little man came over to us with an attitude of multitasking superiority. He flipped the switch off, put his key in the machine, and quickly pushed something on the keyboard. Problem solved. Off he went.

As I left I wondered why it took the checker so long to flip the switch. Pride? Fear? 

We have a switch. God is here. Yet, we sweat and prolong our agony needlessly when we go through a trial. Why? Why do we take responsibility for what He never intended for us?

There is a long line of more to come. No need to be overwhelmed. Flip the switch, stand still, and wait.

Posted in Kitchen & Dining    |   Tags: Panic Button