When I was a kid, my mom had this saying framed in our family room:
“Cleaning the house while the children are growing is like shoveling the sidewalk before it stops snowing.”
Can I just say, “Amen”?
Yesterday, I took a few minutes to wash the breakfast dishes while the little ones were occupied. It went well. Too well. Things were unusually calm so I looked around and realized someone was missing.
I can’t tell you the feeling of the fear that strikes me whenever I realize I don’t know where he is or what he’s doing.
I called his name and looked around a corner. He came out of the living room with an “I’m not up to anything” look on his face. When I asked what he was doing, he said, “Nothing.”
That is NEVER good, y’all.
So I followed the trail of trouble to an indoor beach he had made with one of his older sister’s sand-art creations. Sand was everywhere. The living room, the hall, the babies’ room. Anywhere there was a trash can to aim for there was sand on the floor.
So, I swept it all up then walked into the den to find him seated on the floor, surrounded by his little sisters, the three of them floating in a sea of cheese cracker crumbs.
He was sharing. There’s that.