My Tazmanian Devil Wake Up Call

Last weekend a cleaning frenzy struck me. Basically when this happens, I become all consumed with the thought of a clean home and turn into the Tazmanian Devil. Scrubbing over there, sweeping over here, disinfecting this and that and everything in between. It's insanity. And once it strikes, the compulsion doesn't subside until every surface in my home smells like roses. 

Seriously people, I have a problem. Like a real I-should-probably-see-a-therapist problem. 

When this mood strikes, I become really frustrated with everyone around me. I usually shoo the animals outside, because one is chasing my broom while the other is getting his poopy paws on my counter, and I order Steven to be productive --go clean up the garage, burn that brush pile, take out the trash. Basically, I'm a raging lunatic. 

Last weekend, in the midst of one of these moods, I called for Steven to help me put a serving platter high in a cabinet I could not reach. He didn't respond. I called again. And again. No response. Finally, I storm into our bedroom and I see this...

My exhausted husband trying to catch some much needed zzzz's on a Saturday afternoon. And you know what? I was pissed. How can he sleep when there is so much to be done? I work all week, too! I'm tired, too! 

And then I saw the bigger picture and my heart softened.

Steven wasn't being lazy. He is so good about helping me around the home when I ask. Pitching in when I need a hand. Taking out the trash. Placing that serving platter on the highest cabinet shelf.

Steven was retreating (as were our pets!). 

The mood had struck. I had gone crazy. They retreated to a safe place to pass the time until the frenzy subsided. Our bedroom. Were we all pass the night in unconscious bliss, knowing the other is right there beside us. 

In this moment it just hit me. I waste so many of my waking hours being busy with things that simply don't matter. Spending time scrubbing floors that will be covered in animal hair tomorrow instead of spending time with living, breathing beings that bring me so much joy. 

How stupid is that?

It's okay if I don't live in a Pinterest perfect home. It's okay to leave those dirty dishes in the sink and go on a date with my husband. It's okay to live life. Isn't that what it's there for?

No, I am not trying to promote a slovenly lifestyle. I just know that I need more balance. The clock is always ticking reminding me that another moment has passed and I want to spend that moment with the one I love, not shouting out their name. 

I want to be a place of retreat, not the one they are retreating from.