It's All Good

In time B.C. (before Connor), the house used to be cluttered with dog toys, big man shoes, and my sweaters and sweatshirts hung over the back of every chair and shoved into the corners of the couch.  As I walked through the house tonight after putting 'Rad to sleep I saw those same things, but added to them were burpy cloths, baby socks, kiddie toys and all manner of things that crackle, jingle, and rattle.  And I felt content.  The mess in the house hasn't gone away (it's grown, really), and there are more dishes to do now than before with 'Rad's bottles, bowls, and spoons to clean, but I'm ok with that because in the room down the hall the baby with the best smelling head is sleeping soundly, sealed in a sleep sack on a bed sheet with owls and polka dots (I want a bed sheet with owls and polka dots.  Even a pillowcase would suffice).

These sweet sweats may have actually made it in the hamper

This could be me trying to justify the eternal clutter that characterizes our house.  Heck, there's a cloth bag that's been on the floor for so long that I can't say with any certainty that it's not glued there.  But I really think I'm cool with it all.  I'm sure as hell not trying to clean it up.  I have a cleanliness threshold that keeps me from cleaning up more than the day's grime.  Anything that's been on the floor, slung over a chair, or piled up for more than a week can pretty much have its mail sent there because it ain't going anywhere.  I don't consider our home a sty, there's just a certain...coziness to it.  If a visit to our house makes someone feel that their abode is much cleaner and more presentable than they thought before coming over, well, then, I'm ok with that too.