If our walls could talk…
They would have plenty to discuss. The walls would begin to tell you how we live in chaos. That this house gets dirty, like dishes piled up higher than the faucet, dirty. Toys strewn from the living room all the way to the other end of the house. Because what fun are magnets that stay on the fridge? And after it becomes too lived in, one day a week the house remains spotless. The walls would also say that there is always a promise to keep up with the housework from every day forward. Followed up with the truth that it can never be accomplished with two babies. The floors would tell you that they get swept once a day, and if that happened before dinner, those crumbs from the two-year-old will still be there until the next day or the day after that. The mop would tell you how neglected it is and only gets out of the closet in dire circumstances.
After hours of hearing about the house’s lack of orderliness and tidiness, it will talk about the things it hears. How the sound of the terrible twos rings throughout the house in the morning, and into the afternoon. It will tell of the laughter it hears from the ten-month-old, and how it is contagious to all the other occupants. It will tell you the most used words are: I’m sorry, please forgive me, I love you, you’re so cute, eat your dinner, and of course NO! It will say that the background noise is always music, but over the music, you’ll hear a two-year-old, and a twenty-four year old singing countless children’s songs. With endless giggling and “dancing.”
The mornings are always met with routine and predictability. Feed the baby a bottle, feed the two-year-old yogurt, and quickly get the oatmeal started before a meltdown ensues. Distraction for the children, and rush to get myself together before the kids notice mommy isn’t right next to them. We hurry to get out of the house, and always rejoice when we come back.
It will speak of the peaceful times of the day, nap time and bedtime. How during nap time one baby sleeps in one room, and the other one cuddles into mom and dads. But during bedtime both children sleep in one room. The sound of sweet nighttime prayers fill the room. Sleep is sometimes met with rebellion, and tears, but eventually sleep wins out. How at the end of the day the parents sneak into the kid’s room and look at their babies sleeping. Sometimes it requires them to abort mission because the baby stirs, but is worth it every time none the less.
The house will talk about the amount of photos and memories that are captured. But most importantly it would talk about the messy love that fills this home. That perfection is not strived for here, but grace filled function. The house would speak to the fact that this is a season of life, and one day the housework will be easily maintained because little people no longer dwell here. That the house will hear less tantrums, and little feet running on the floor. The giggling will fade, and the only tears remaining will be that of bitter-sweetness for a new season coming. Sometimes I’m glad that my walls can’t actually speak, but sometimes I do wonder if it really sees the joy and fun that is had every day, even above the difficult days of this season of life.