Today I noticed little splatters of dried milk on my floors. I’ve noticed it before because the boys throw their sippies full of milk on the ground and it occasionally flies out of the tiny holes on the lid. But today it was like I was drawn to these tiny splatters, and I just had to clean them up. Immediately. They suddenly became the biggest eye sore in the room. I got my supplies and started cleaning them up. After I noticed and cleaned one area, then I noticed another and another. And then Nash started to tug at my hand. Whenever he wants me or needs help, it’s not “Mama!” Its “Mamamamama!” I turned to him and said, “In a little bit buddy, I’m cleaning the floor.”And then my heart ached as I looked at him look at the floor where I was cleaning.
One of my friends reminds me of this saying every now and then,
“The cleaning and scrubbing can wait till tomorrow
But children grow up as I’ve learned to my sorrow.
So quiet down cobwebs; Dust go to sleep!
I’m rocking my baby and babies don’t keep.”
And that last part is what makes me ache.
The dried milk splatters don’t matter.
The clutter doesn’t matter.
The wrinkly laundry in the dryer doesn’t matter.
My babies matter.