I try to keep my house tidy. And like most people it can get the best of me sometimes. It's not at it's worst, that's for sure. That might be the day I was baking banana bread, doing all sorts of laundry, wrapping presents...you get the idea.
A year ago I tried to live a very grown up life. You know, nice coffee table books out to make me look smart and interesting. A cashmere (faux) throw tossed over the corner of the couch. The cool candlesticks I got in Africa and the man-on-cow wooden carving Nate picked up in the Philippines displayed so everyone would know we were well-traveled.
When we first had Clementine one of my friends dropped in to meet her and he told me that finally we were like everyone else..."you have baby stuff everywhere". When I heard that I was all, "hell to the no". I mean, there was still some old Tonia remaining. The girl who thought her house defined her.
Tonight I was upstairs and I stopped at the window that looks over our greatroom. As I gazed over the unkept room I saw Clementine's swing in the corner, her play yard in the middle of the floor, a baby blanket on the chair, her car seat stashed behind the chair, a bumbo seat on the counter and several baby bottles laying around. And this house made me smile. My clean, grown up house never gave delight the way a tiny sock laying on the floor can.