I'm Rocking My Baby

Ugh, if you came to my door right now, I'd probably invite you in, with about a thousand apologies, and asking you to please excuse the mess. Because, of course, if your house doesn't look like Martha Stewart's studio, that's what you do. (I went to a filming of her show once, by the way....her staff actually uses a dustbuster in the greenhouse before airing. I mean, in the greenhouse!!!! Where there's supposed to be dirt!)

Growing up, I think I had the cleanest house ever. My dad is very particular, and my mom, I think, was addicted to crack. I mean, the woman used to stay up vacuuming at 11 at night, or even 2 in the morning. I can barely wash a dish by 9:30pm. I guess I wasn't blessed with the gift of needing a small amount of sleep each night. I need my 8 hours (at least)!!! My father was so much worse. He was gone most of the week, and we would all run around like madmen picking up before his arrival Friday night, so we could pretend the house had looked this way all week, and no one left their shoes out by the front door or a dish in the sink. I feel like I spend all day stressing somewhere in my head that there is laundry to be done, floors to clean (again), dusting, picking up I can be doing...it's like an obsession I can't keep up with. So after spending 3 crazy weeks alone with the kids and trying to live up to some unattainable standards for an immaculate house and making myself crazy in the process...I found this:

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.

Brought tears to my eyes. It's so true. How long will my baby be a baby? How long will they want to cuddle up and read a book with me? No one ever looks back on their life and says, "Boy! I sure wish I'd cleaned my house more often!" No one ever speaks a eulogy that includes "And we will always remember what a clean and tidy house this woman kept." No -- they talk about how she listened, spent time with her loved ones, made people laugh.

So...if you stop by my house, and it's cluttered, or toys are everywhere, or the couch has laundry I'm trying to fold....know it is that way because I am playing with my kids. We're busy making crafts, reading stories, going on walks, learning together, or just plain cuddling while we watch tv. I'm going to get over it and move on. I have 3 small children...keeping tidy will not always be this difficult, and they won't always be small. So when they are bigger in a few years and my house is nice and neat when you stop by, I'll be smiling and invite you in without apology...but inside I'll be mourning the loss of my babies and the chaos that came with them.