Hello, my name is Megan Clark and I'm a cleanaholic. (Is that a thing?) Well, I am. I admit it...I like clean, germ free, clutter free, organized, and open spaces.
And then God said, "Loosen up; here's three boys to cure you!" And so came the large cumbersome baby apparatuses, the teething toys, the toddler toys, the tinker toys. And then I learned the cold hard truth - kids don't come wired to put things back where they found them.
And my painstakingly organized bins were dumped out and left out, and parts went missing. And my carefully detailed mopped floors were spit up on, food smeared, and finished off with some cutting edge sticky finger painted art piece.
And as my perfect, crumb-free, dirt-free, and mess-free world crumbled around me my screwed up mentality got a transformation in the form of 3 little fireballs who showed me what I'm missing in a life without a mess.
So here's where I find myself presently in my need-for-clean addiction...I like having a reason to clean. What's the point of vacuuming a crumb-less floor? Now as I suck up an entire package of crushed animal crackers I find myself laughing at the discovery of Wilson giddy with himself for tearing open the bag and digging in.
And the purpose for now throwing in load after load of jelly stained, mud caked, ink marked, grass covered blue jeans and t-shirts is to laugh at the moments of rolling down hills, jumping in puddles, laughing at jokes with mouths full, and tackling in the yard.
And the soldier guys put back in the car bin, and the trains found in the soldier guy bin, and the LEGO's left all over the floor nowhere near their bin may cause a small panic attack in my addict self; but I'm working through this. I can't help but be very proud of little guys working together to clean-up all on their own and stand beaming as I praise their hard work.
And the front entry way which stays freshly mopped for about 20 minutes holds stories of hectic departures for doctor's appoints when we were running late, melted popsicles from little boys trying to come inside for a toy, mud and dirt from puddle jumping, and melted snow from drying sleds and coats. It's now become a messy favorite as almost all the hilarity centers around the coming and the going.
And while I am far from giving up my cleaning OCD, I embrace it in a new way with a viewpoint I was unaware existed before these three messy men. It's that the best memories are made with a mess. As Matt and I watched our rain boot wielding puddle jumpers we saw mud soak through pants, fill down inside boots, and cake into fresh haircuts.
Then Matt commented, "Boys are the best, and so are the messes they make." And I laughed out loud as I snapped more pictures of those mud covered rascals finding I couldn't agree more. But that doesn't mean I'm not going to go re-organize the bins ;)