As much as I love, love, love being in a clean house where everything is where it should be, dishes are clean, laundry is done, and everything smells freshly washed...my house rarely looks like that. And when it does, it's one piece at a time. The kitchen may sparkle but the bedroom has laundry exploded in a corner. And as nutty as the clutter makes me, I tolerate it, accept it, even try to embrace it. Because, just as with everything in life, there is a price to pay for having a spotless house--less time for other things. For watching movies with the husband, for playing with the cats or cuddling on the couch, for pursuing my own interests and hobbies.
It reminds me of a poem that hung in the hallway of my childhood home. Because life is too precious to be spent scrubbing things to perfection. And so when my desk is overrun by papers and dishes, and heaven only knows what else, I'll just focus on the cats sleeping happily in piles and my hubby besides me and remember just how luckily I really am.
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