Today, post-lunch:
I stared at the floor, full of pieces of bread, tortilla chips, and baby crackers. And sighed.
Out loud I said, mostly to myself...though also partly to my hubby in the next room, "Why doesn't a house just stay clean? It would be nice. Why does it need to be cleaned every day, needy little thing?"
I took the broom out of the closet and began to sweep. And as if talking to oneself wasn't bad enough...I also answered myself out loud. "I suppose a clean house means no busy, happy kids...no beautiful babies eating and playing and keeping me busy. And if I had to choose, I would definitely choose my beautiful babies and a messy house over no babies and a clean one. Definitely."
I noticed, then, my almost-2-and-much-too-grown-up Baby-Rae standing in the doorway, watching me sweep and listening to me monologue...to which she started clapping and saying "g'dob, g'dob!" (good job, good job)!
I laughed out loud,
scooped her up,
and thanked her for the vote of confidence.
