I am a clean person. Honest.
But here's a word to the wise. Don't come to my house between the hours of 8 and 10am. Because you would believe that instead of a clean and organized person that I live in a pig sty surrounded by pop tarts, crumbs, and a variety of madness and mayhem.
Both are true actually.
You see, most days in the early morning hours I am accompanied by two little people named Dean and Christopher. They are notably not the cleanest people that reside in our humble abode. In fact, they are quite the opposite. They wake up and the destruction begins. You see, it is apparently imperative at their age that they pull out every toy, every electronic, every item within their grasp and scatter it between the living room and kitchen. It is also a morning "must" to not really eat their breakfast but instead to smash, stomp, crumble and destroy their breakfast all over the floor and couch. These are important morning rituals for them, traditions that they refuse to abandon.
So you see, it is for your own safety that I ask you to refrain from coming by for an unexpected visit during these madness hours in the morning.
Unfortunately I did not issue this mass warning soon enough.
A sweet and kind individual became a witness to the toddler hurricane one morning about two weeks ago. I am sure he will never be the same.
It was 9:00 on a Thursday morning. I had been happily ignoring my tornadoes as they roared through the house. It is part of my attempt to maintain my sanity to allow them a few hours to make this inevitable mess. I learned after many mornings that trying to prevent it causes pain for all involved. As I sat on the couch surfing facebook status updates, they consistently brought in toy after toy, yelled at the dog, and threw around remotes, pillows, and blankets. Basically they were in little boy heaven.
I heard a small crash which caused me to arise from my comfy seat only to find Christopher dumping out an entire box of Cap'n Crunch cereal. I sighed. Because some mornings my youngest takes the madness to a whole new level. As he began to play "stomp the crunch", there came a knock at the door. I told Christopher to go to the bathroom, quite honestly a very dumb place to send the one year old.
As I sat on the couch to chat with the older gentlemen from our church, I was mortified at the state of my home. I knew that to him it looked like I had refused to clean for days. Little did he know that the destruction he bore witness to was the product of an hour and a half worth of little boy "work". We chatted for a few minutes before we heard the little footsteps of Christopher Warren. I turned as he walked through the living room door and saw a horrific site. My son, whom I had sent to the bathroom, found my lotion. I should have known better than to give him permission to enter the bathroom without my supervision but all I could think in that moment was "remove him from the mess". Of course, he can find a way to make a new mess in every room of the house. He not only found my lotion, but applied my lotion by pouring it on top of his head and smearing it down the length of his tiny body. He was a white, gooey mess of a toddler.
My mouth dropped.
The man laughed and politely excused himself, thanking me for my time and leaving the disaster area.
Christopher smiled and held up his arms saying "my hands". Yes Christopher you put the lotion on your hands alright. I carefully picked him up and carried him to the bath where I rinsed him with the shower head, clothes and all, then stripped him naked to wash off the lotion. I told him to sit in the tub as I began to clean up the Cap'n Crunch dance floor only to return to the bathroom and find a slippery, soapy mess. Christopher had taken the opportunity to pour two bottles of shampoo into the water. Two whole bottles.
I could barely lift him from the tub he was so slippery. I wrapped him in a towel, carried him upstairs and placed him (unclothed) into his bed. He sighed and laid down. Apparently admitting baby defeat.
I must add that my sweet husband was upstairs, the whole time, asleep.
I then cried.
Sometimes a good cry in the face of mass destruction is necessary.
It didn't take me long to recover and return the house to its upright state of cleanliness. It never takes me too long. Which is the moral of the story.
You can dump, pour, crumble, pile, and otherwise destroy anything in your life. And I promise it won't take long at all for your Heavenly Father to help you clean it up. That's not to give you permission to reek havoc. But to encourage you that no mess is too big a mess for the ultimate Cleaner.
I have encountered mess that makes me cringe, but I roll up my sleeves and get to work. I hope that in your life, as you create destruction through your own pride or ignorance, that you will allow your God the opportunity to roll up His sleeves and get to work in your life.
And remember... don't come to the Gaffner's house between the hours of 8 and 10am.
Good life lessons, invaluable really. :)