Whenever I step into my parent’s house, I breathe an audible sigh. I marvel at the cabinets that stay organized, and the appliances free from smudges. My parents can walk through their house without stepping on stray lego blocks, or finding a variety of Hot Wheel cars underneath the couch.
One day, my family was over for dinner, and our youngest son pulled himself up to standing, using the sliding glass door for assistance. As he pulled himself up, he left a trail of handprints laced with dinner leftovers behind him.
“Oh Jack, quick, let’s wash your hands so you won’t leave dirty handprints.” I got Jack washed up, and I reached for the Windex to clean up his mess.
“Leave it, Em,” said my mom.
I protested, saying I was going to clean up Jack’s mess left behind on her door.
Mom responded, saying, “One day, you’ll wash your windows, and they’ll stay clean until the next time you wash them.”
We finished our meal, and drove home. We went home to toy cars under the couch, a washing machine full of dirty clothes, and fingerprints smudging our windows. The kitchen countertop was littered with slips of paper to return to school, and lunchboxes needing refilled.
As I looked around, I had a fresh sense of perspective. When we were in the season of waiting to grow our family, I would have loved to have a house in the exact state of our home right now. I was incredibly humbled as we went to bed that night, thinking our current reality was the longing of my heart, only seven years before.
Goldfish crumbs under our couch cushions mean we have food to eat. Clothes to be washed mean that we have clothes to wear. Handprints on my windows and bibs on the counter are signs I have the children I longed for years before.
Someday, my house will stay clean and tidy. When that day comes, I think I might find myself wishing to go back to the days I’m currently living. This Thanksgiving, I’m thankful for the clutter of toys and the handprints filling our windows; they are signs of the healthy little boys growing up in our home.
