This week, our family of five spent 5 out of 7 days battling a horrible stomach bug — to spare the gory details, let’s just leave it at lots of yuckiness and shaking chills, which spared no one except our 11 month old (Riley). As of yesterday, the house looked like a toy factory/baby store and paper recycling plant had exploded. In quite a few places the floor was barely visible. Stacks of unsorted mail and papers everywhere. Dishes in various stages of cleanliness. Even a few stray socks and dirty clothes thrown in for good measure, all tossed thoroughly with a healthy helping of dust.

My friends who know me well will realize that enduring this scene would normally require me to be sedated or in a straitjacket. Though my standards have come down a bit with the arrival of kid #3, I still can’t stand clutter. Or gooey countertops. However, yesterday morning was my first day of not actively being ill, and I was still tired and weak. Since my three little early risers don’t let me stay in bed with the covers pulled over my head, I had to settle for the couch and a quilt.

By late morning I mustered up the energy to plow through the mess, and once I get going, just try and stop me! I was on fire — sorting, tossing, cleaning, tossing some more, and had myself convinced that I could restore the house, shovel the snow, and be ready for errands all by lunch! I am obsessive-compulsive superwoman — hear me roar! I CAN do it all!!!
Until Riley decided he just wasn’t happy. My busy boy wants to be EVERYWHERE and is at that stage where he frustrates easily. I moved him from place to place, trying to figure out what he wanted. I even plopped him in his high chair with a few Cheerios to watch me work. More tears, louder screams. Finally, I put him on the floor, moved all barriers out of the way, and said, “Crawl at will. Show me what in the world it is that you WANT. PLEASE.”

My crying, now snotty baby boy crawled as fast as he could across the room — and wrapped himself around my leg. He didn’t want a specific toy, a snack, a nap, his sisters. He wanted his Mommy.

I picked him up and took him over to the couch, gave him his Binky, and settled him in my lap. He immediately threw his arms around my neck, put his head in my shoulder, and SNUGGLED. The boy who never snuggles any more went out cold on my shoulder for 40 minutes while I sang to him and patted his back, and prayed a prayer of thankfulness to God for the precious moments He had given us. We enjoyed our own little cozy spot in the middle of the biggest mess my house has ever been in — and I didn’t even care.

Who was I doing it all for? What was I trying to prove? Does it honor God more to have a sparkling, organized house, or to have children growing up with parents that reflect His unconditional love, His willingness to drop everything and comfort us when we need it? Will it matter, when Riley is grown and gone, whether or not my house was clean yesterday or not? No. Riley showed me the beauty in stillness, in taking time out from what the world thinks is important. My sweet baby boy, in his own little way, took my eyes off myself and put them on my Savior.

Take heart, fellow mommies. Enjoy these moments while you can. Thank you, dear Lord, for the way you use our children to teach us, mold us, and most of all, bless us.

Now settle down, cobwebs. Dust, go to sleep! I’m rocking my baby, and babies don’t keep.