It's easy for me to look around and feel like we are constantly bombarded with clutter. Jake will be the first to tell you that I have a clutter-ridding freak-out at least twice a month. All of the sudden, the things that are around drive me crazy and I go on a rant and rave about how things have a place. So why are the things not in their places?
This morning, though, I looked around and realized that you can tell a lot about people by what is on their shelves and tables. Or maybe you can just tell a lot about me from what is on my shelves and tables...because I'm sure you don't have clutter like we do. I'm sure your home sparkles always just like mine does...when you visit. :)
Well, here is a big reveal. The ugliness of the "keeping it real" mantra I've kept on this blog. Ready? Here we go!
This is our end table that probably shouldn't have nearly as many things on it as it does. It includes my coffee cup from this morning, one of Jake's books on church leadership, the air purifier I took from Laina since she was playing near the outlet it was plugged in, my lens cap which I continually tend to lose, my phone, our lamp, a brush from doing the girls' hair and a picture of my very favorite almost 16 month-old.
Here is our entertainment center. If you were to visit, the top would be completely cleared but for a small layer of orange scented Pledge dusting the top.
What I fail to remember when I get stressed out by the clutter is why we have clutter. Every piece of these messes has something in common. The messes come from people, six of them to be sure, who are living life and living it well. Some day, there won't be hairspray out in the living room because I won't be doing three little girls' hair in front of the TV. I'll only have my own to do.
There won't be toys scattered about, whether for playtime or if the toys are in time-out themselves.
There won't be bright pink nail polish because the fingers that wore the playful colors will mature into fingers that adorn reds and maroons...and there won't be a hint of sparkles in them.
While I know that the messes will still get to me, it's good for me to step back and be thankful about them once in a while because they won't always be here. The thought of living in a perfectly manicured, well-kept house already makes me sad because I know what I'll be missing. So for now, I'm choosing to love these little messes. They won't be around for long, just like the little hands who make them. And those are eight little hands I love so so much.