Recently, I found myself jealous of a home I visited…everything, and I mean everything was in its place. It wasn’t one of those crazy, frantic clean up before company comes, sort of visits. It was a surprise visit. An, “oh, so glad you stopped by.” The knives had a place, the floors were spotless, the cushions were fluffed, the night-light scents were “scenting.” The artwork was framed. It was beautiful. It was fragile. I was jealous.
Before you ask, yes, this person works full time. Yes, this person has multiple children. Yes, this person has pets. Yes, this person runs the vacuum daily. Yes, I was humbled. Seriously humbled.
I started feeling bad about my laundry mountain, and dish piles, and dusty tv, and slime in bowls all over the living room floor, and glue sticks laying on the side of the couch, and legos in every room including the bathroom, and drawings all over the walls and windows, and … yeah…it is exhausting just to read about it. It makes me exhausted to look at it…but only when I think about it.
See, I don’t spend a lot of time thinking about it. As a child, I spent a lot of time at my Grandma Shook’s house. Let me tell you about this house. Out front she planted rows of Pansies (that was her name) and money plant. I could spend hours working to see how many layers of money plant I could separate. On her sun porch were 30+ plants blooming and green. There was an easel with a painting set up and paints laying on a table next to it. Out back was a garden of grapes and sunflowers to play in. In the TV room was a basket of crochet. And in the extra room, the holy grail, was a large wardrobe full of craft supplies. Styrofoam balls, yarn, glue, paint, beads, markers, brushes, paper, old cards, wood boards, scissors and more! I loved that cabinet. I ran straight to it when I arrived, and came up with something new and different each and every time. I made huge messes. I left things out as I went to start a new thing, and then I came back to it. I was in heaven. She never fussed about the mess. I never even realized the mess was a “thing.”
Then, years later, I find that my own children are always in the middle of slime, soap making, bath bomb making, engineering blinking lights, sewing, decorating walls, legos, origami, painting, gluing, you name it. We aren’t an “outside” family, so the language around our house is not, did you go outside today, but did you create something today. I was cleaning up the ‘piles’ and they were freaking out that they weren’t finished with them. I tried to center them at a table or counter and they lost their creative juice. It seemed that they could only create if they had freedom to roam and create wherever. While I believed it was good, I still felt "bad" about it.
Then, I saw the new, which is old now, movie, “Yours, Mine and Ours.” In the movie, the mother designs bags. She has like a million children and her manager comes by. She tells him, “Houses are for free expression, not good impressions!” I loved it. It stuck. That is how we live our life now. So, while I at times feel jealous and well, just plan slobby, I know deep in my artist heart that I am growing new artists. New creators for this world who will make it more colorful and bright along the way.
Yeah, I am okay with that.
PS...my home is not grose...or dirty...that is different...right?!?!