Messes and Love

Now that I do live with Bear (read yesterday’s blog if that comes as a shock), I live with boys.
A lot of them.
When I moved out on my own, Abe was barely 3. He couldn’t really be considered a boy. He didn’t do much. He didn’t make much of a mess. He didn’t even have his own room or many toys, so life continued¬†fairly contained.
Now he is 4. He has his own room. LOTS of his own toys. And he makes messes.
Bear also has a son. He also has his own room. And lots of his own toys. And he makes messes.
Then there’s Bear.
We love Bear, yes? So much?! SO MUCH!!
Bear has several rooms. And lots and lots and lots of his own toys. But he’s not a child.

So his messes are REAL big.

I’m used to a very quiet, very well-organized home because I was the only one in it for the most part with a young child. Then when I moved in with a roommate, she was as OCD about the organization of the refrigerator as I was, so life was fine.
Now I feel lucky if food or drinks make it INTO the fridge.

There was a minute there when our households combined that I thought, Oh I can’t do this.¬†I felt like I was cleaning ALL the time. Reminding people to put things away. Creating systems for organization. New systems for the systems. Baskets. Boxes. The label maker was born again.

I was a little panicked.

imagesOne morning as I sifted through old journals and books (always the last thing to be put away, aside from framed pictures), I opened one up. I read a few lines and a whole host of emotions came rushing through my body. I was writing about wanting to be loved, adored, cherished, and truly wanted. I wrote about it for pages and pages. I wrote and prayed so desperately along each line that it was incredibly sad to read. I felt so badly for this girl. She was so lonely and sad. She would have done anything for this love of all loves.
Including the dishes.

When I really sift through my life, I realize that if that girl had been given the chance to feel life’s GREATEST and most unconditional love, she wouldn’t have turned it down if it came with the caveat of never using the garage for storing cars and me being the only one who ever loaded/unloaded the dishwasher. She would have said, “ANYTHING! ANYTHING TO FEEL THAT KIND OF LOVE!” And I feel that way today. I feel really and truly like none of these things matter because of the love I am blessed to have. Do I WANT to pick up the same towel off the floor everyday and hang it up on the same hook? Nope. But by golly, I wouldn’t trade it for the world.


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