It's Friday night, the fireplace is ablaze, and I'm curled on the couch, legs and feet tangled in a blanket with those of a lanky seven year old. I think a stuffed snowman is cuddled in here somewhere too. Empty pizza boxes litter the counters, paper plates scatter the floor. Jammies replaced jeans much before bedtime and the kids and I are settled in to enjoy our end of the week movie night.
It has been a long week of sick kids and late nights, unfinished to-do lists and traitorous hormones. I have spoken out of turn, given stress the upper hand, forgotten 2 Peter 1:3. I need this cozy down time as much as the kids. And so, I have given myself (and thus the rest of the family) a (guilt-free) gift this evening: the luxury of paper plates, take-out, and each other. The list of chores can wait until tomorrow (or Monday!). I am relishing the peace of the undone.
This summer when we were traveling, I ran across a mug with this quip:
"apparently she gave up on being perfect because her floors are sticky and she laughs a lot."
While witty and cute, it resonated. How many memories have I soured or missed because I was focused on messes or chores, needing to finish one more task, wanting everything "just so"?
So potential visitors beware ... I am learning the art of dancing on sticky floors. If you come to my house, you may find dishes in the sink, dog hair on the carpet, and clothes in the laundry baskets ... and laughter in the halls.
