Monday, January 24, 2011

Housework is Hazardous to your Health

Especially if you live with me.

Saturday started out like any other day. The kids were playing. I was working around the house, trying to maintain the picked-up-ness of the day before. Chad was working on the computer, and I was happy that things were fairly orderly around here. But, I kept noticing every time I walked through the kitchen that there was a definite stickiness to one area of the kitchen floor. Normally I might have ignored it, saved it for a later time, chalked it up to life with little kids. But on Saturday I was in the zone. I was on top of things. I was SuperMom. So, I got out the Swiffer Wet Jet and I absentmindedly cleaned the sticky area of the floor, thinking that I would do the whole floor later in the day. I sprayed it, mopped it, and headed to my room to start on another job. Literally two seconds later I heard a loud thud and a pained cry from Sawyer. If you're a parent, you know how you feel when the cry has that certain pitch that tells you he's hurt. I ran toward his room, thinking something must've fallen on him or who knows what. Then I heard a commotion in the kitchen.

I stepped across the hall just in time to see Sawyer lying on the floor writhing in pain and screaming with his hand on his head (that loud thud must've been his head hitting the floor) and Chad falling for what seemed like forever, immediately grabbing his leg, saying it was broken. Later I laughed about what a comical scene it really was. I can picture me mopping, walking away, Sawyer running in and going down, and Chad running in and going down. Chad was running to rescue Sawyer after I had sabotaged his run through the house with my mopped floor. But, I got Chad, too. Just like that. Two birds with one mop, you might say.

My favorite way to picture the scene is sort of Scooby Doo-like. Chad and Sawyer, in one place, looking at each other with wide eyes while their legs spin under them before they finally land with a crash. All because of housework.

To tell you the truth, I have been searching for awhile for a way to prove that my normally mediocre housekeeping is best for our family, and after the doctor looked at Chad's x-ray and said, "Yep, it's broken," I realized I may have finally done it.

Incidentally, Sawyer's head was fine. He has a remarkably hard head, apparently. One thing I know for sure is that future mopping in the Edgington house will be delegated to Chad. Either that, or we're going to have to invest in some "Caution: Wet Floor" signs.

Friday, January 21, 2011

Bankets, Dinks, and God

Yahoo! I'm back in business! I missed you, little blog. Kudos to Chad for deciding to become a computer genius and fix our old computer. Let the blogging commence...

My son is almost three. Like most three year olds, he loves calling out from his bed at bedtime to ask for various things. Sometimes I am patient when he does this and sometimes I'm not. This is how the first few minutes of bedtime usually sound:

"Mama, I need a dink!"

"Mama, put my banket on me!"

"Mama, I want Pooh!"

"Mama, I need a dink!"

Until finally I warn him that this is the LAST drink, and it's time for him to go to sleep. When I say this there is usually silence. Sometimes he goes to sleep and I don't hear a peep until the next morning. But, there are nights when he just can't bear the thought of going to sleep and being alone and he has run out of things to ask for. On those nights I hear:

"Mama, I want you."

Such a sweet and simple request. He doesn't really know what he wants at this point--he just knows he needs me in some way. He must have me, and you can bet that when I hear those words I don't waste any time getting in there to hug my baby.

When this scenario unfolded a few nights ago, I was sitting on the couch thinking about what had just happened, and it dawned on me that I had just witnessed a picture of my relationship with God. How often do I ask for everything else that I think will make me happy? He hears:

"God, give me another baby."

"God, make Adelade well so she won't miss her class party."

"God, make me a better (wife, mother, friend, cook, housekeeper, money manager)."

I can just picture God waiting to hear those words that are so pleasing to His ear:

"God, I want you."

When I acknowledge that I don't know what I want or what will make me happy, when I reach the point where I can say that all I really know is that I want and need and crave God, and I'm too weak to do anything on my own, He will really show me his power. I pray that I can be more like a little child calling out to his mama. I want you, God.