The Proof is in the…Dirty House

Flylady says that there is no wagon to fall off of, but she’s lying.  There is a wagon, and I’ve fallen off.
There is a Mount Washmore in my room, in Devo’s closet, and in Lia’s room.  The toilets are going to come to life and take over the planet if left to themselves much longer.  There are empty pizza boxes strewn about like we’re a frat house instead of a respectable family dwelling.  For dinner last night I had cold pizza, marshmallows, and honey roasted pecans (not advised).  And I think there are 5 dirty diapers on the floor in the bedroom (6 if you count the one that somehow ended up in the hall).
The funny thing is…most of it has happened in the last 24 hours.  What with small group Bible study on Friday night (the pizza boxes) and a very full day Sabbath with the Messiah (the laundry epidemic, diaper problem, and the terrible dinner)…and, well, I guess I can’t blame the Toilet Monster on the last 24 hours.
So I was on my way to becoming morose last night over the state of my house and was on my way to tell Devo all about it, when a little thought glimmered in the gloom:

    My dirty house is an affirmation of what I do.

Think about it….
For 24 hours, I did not do any of the things I normally do–  I did not pick up toys, I did not wash dishes, I did not wipe crumbs off of counters and push in chairs, I did not go around straightening things–closing doors and drawers, flinging errant items into their proper places, picking up and properly disposing of dirty diapers, making sure that everyone’s clean and dirty clothes get to their respective homes…AND YOU CAN TELL!!!
Alot of days (it comes in waves) I try to ignore that feeling that I’m just a little hamster in a wheel, running round and round for all I’m worth and going…nowhere.  After all, there are no visible results for what I do–The house always looks basically the same, no matter how much I clean.  Oh, sure, slight variations like the short-lived beautiful carpet lines from the vacuum or the couch cover either in disarray or, less likely, tucked in (the inventor of couch covers did not have children).  But, really.  I cook, and by 20 minutes after the meal there is no sign of what I worked 2 hours on.  I clean and you can’t really tell unless you look closely.
But now, oh glorious affirmation!, for one day I didn’t do what I normally do, and now I can see all of my hard work…simply because I didn’t do it.
Wow!  I do not labor in vain!  Hooray for homemakers! <pat on the shoulder>
I went to bed (after sweeping more clothes and dirty diapers onto the floor with what my Grandma calls a ‘lick and a promise’) in a rosy glow, surrounded by the (piled up) evidence of my work.  I am content.

The only bummer is that now I have to go clean it all up.  Rats.

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