High Expectations

~~Housework Can Wait~~

Come in, but don't expect to find

All dishes done, all floors ashine.

Observe the crumbs and toys galore.

The smudgy prints upon the door.

The little ones we shelter here

Don't thrive on a spotless atmosphere.

They're more inclined to disarray

And carefree even messy play.

Their needs are great, their patience small.

All day I'm at their beck and call.

It's Mommy come! Mommy see!

Wiggly worms and red scraped knee.

Painted pictures, blocks piled high.

My floors unshined, the days go by.

Some future day they'll flee this nest,

And I at last will have a rest!

Now you tell me which matters more,

A happy child or a polished floor?

...Author Unknown

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

My friend over at Riverbend Ramblings, posted this poem on her blog this morning. I read it in a timely manner!

Lately, I have been feeling discouraged over my house. It's clean, but with three small children, it doesn't stay spotless. Not how *I* would like it to be anyway. This poem speaks so much of what my house is like, but I am so crabby that my house is like what this poem describes, that the crabbiness wears off on the kids. So, well, you know... "When Momma ain't happy, ain't no one happy!"

So this was encouragement to me, I believe from the Lord, to worry about having happy children, rather than my polished floor.

Of course, I don't want to live in filth, lol! But perfection can wait. ;-)

Happy October!

October's Bright Blue Weather
by Helen Hunt Jackson

O sun and skies and clouds of JuneAnd flowers of June together, Ye cannot
rival for one hourOctober's bright blue weather;

When loud the bumblebee
makes haste, Belated, thriftless vagrant, And goldenrod is dying fast, And lanes
with grapes are fragrant;

When gentians roll their fringes tight, To save them
for the morning, And chestnuts fall from satin burs Without a sound of
warning;

When on the ground red apples lieIn piles like jewels shining, And
redder still on old stone walls Are leaves of woodbine twining;

When all the
lovely wayside things Their white-winged seeds are sowing, And in the fields,
still green and fair, Late aftermaths are growing;

When springs run low, and
on the brooksIn idle, golden freighting,Bright leaves sink noiseless in the
hushOf woods, for winter waiting;

When comrades seek sweet country haunt By
twos and twos together, And count like misers hour by hour October's bright blue
weather.

O sun and skies and flowers of June, Count all your boasts
together, Love loveth best of all the year October's bright blue weather.