My apologies at the outset that there is no accompanying photo for this post, for "a picture is worth 1,000 words." But in this case, Janelle does a pretty fine job with her words, and I think you'll enjoy reading! - Brad
The material for these musings on motherhood is from my day Saturday. It all began when I was reading through an email from my sister, Christa and my niece, Kate entitled "Things I would love to know about you." Question #34 read "What are you listening to right now?" At the time I read that question I was listening to the sound of the mop swish over the kitchen floor as my husband mopped it for the third time that night.
It had all started a few weeks earlier when I was listening to a seminar on "The high calling of motherhood" at my church. The speaker that particular day was talking about enjoying your children. She said that she was a "fun mom" and that when her kids were growing up she had let them finger paint with pudding on the kitchen floor, and then would give them a bath, put them to bed, and mop the kitchen floor. "I want to be a fun mom, too," I thought, and tucked the idea away for just the right time. That time arrived on Saturday night. After a fun day with our four girls, Elise (6), Chloe (4), Grace (2) and Brooke (7 months), they were ready for a bath and bed. Grace is learning not to walk around with her sippy cup, but the learning process has been a slow one, and the floor is covered with dirty spots from where she has spilled her juice. (Evidently our sippy cups aren't spill-proof!) Dirty kids, dirty floor, it was the perfect recipe for fun, or so I thought.
The girls enjoyed painting with the pudding, but were soon ready for their bath. I told them not to move and ran upstairs to get their bath ready. That was my first mistake. I heard shouts and giggles as I started the water. Hurrying as fast as I could, I came downstairs to find that the girls had stepped in the pudding, and were sliding over the floor, thus taking our nicely contained art project and spreading it all over the floor with vanilla pudding. They had also grabbed the refrigerator and cupboards, thus extending the canvas of our art onto more than just the floor. I wiped them off the best I could, and sent them upstairs. I felt a twinge of guilt knowing that they would be getting into the tub without any supervision, but what could I do? The pudding had to be wiped off before they scurried up the carpeted stairs, and I could only wipe down one girl at a time. Elise, then Chloe headed upstairs, and finally Grace and I followed. The pudding sat. Clean girls, fresh jammies, brushed hair and teeth, and all were ready for bed. I nursed the baby, put the other three to bed, and then headed downstairs where I was greeted by.... pudding.
Sensing things were going to get messy, I put my hair up into a pony tail, got out the mop, hot water, and the Mop N Glo. I started in the kitchen, moved to the dining room, out to the entry way, then down a few stairs to the bathroom and laundry room, swishing, rinsing, and scrubbing as I went. All was well, or so I thought. About a half an hour later my husband returned from running some errands. As he put the bags down on the counter he said "That's funny, my shoes are sticking." "What?" I cried in astonishment, "it can't be!" I took a few trial steps to see for myself. But his first judgment was correct, and the floor was indeed what can only be described as sticky.
It seems that by starting in the kitchen, where the bulk of the pudding "artwork" was, I managed to actually spread the pudding over the entire floor. Exhausted, I sank down on the couch while my dear husband picked up the mop and bucket and set out to mop the floor again.... and then again. We awoke this morning and headed downstairs. As I grabbed a bowl for oatmeal, my sock stuck to the tile. I may be killing their dream of being an artist, I may never be able to describe myself as a 'fun mom', but there will be no more pudding art in this house!
- Janelle
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