Are you having a Brady Bunch, Leave it to Beaver day?

I never really watched the Brady Bunch or Leave it to Beaver, but their story lines have been talked about so much that the romance in these shows is not lost on me.  Ever since I was a little girl I dreamt of being a wife and mother.  I would dream of how my husband would be very handsome and I would have perfect children and my home would always be clean.  I would wear an apron all day long to keep my 50's style, waist hugging,  knee length dress clean for my hardworking husband to see when he came home.  I would make it seem effortless to keep house, raise a respectful brood and have home cooked ~ from scratch~ meals ready for my husband as soon as he came home. 

Some days, in my real life, I feel like my little family could be the Cleaver’s or Brady’s.  Sometimes I feel like I’ve got my life under control.  To me, that means:  I’ve made time to spend with the Lord, my house is clean-or at least picked up, I’ve made a nutritious dinner, I’ve had plenty of time to enjoy my son-playing with him and showing him new things, I’ve got a plate of food in the oven waiting for my husband to eat once he gets home, my projects are caught up on and my laundry is mostly clean and put away.   I love it when I can sit down at the end of the day and put my feet up knowing that when my husband walks in the door, he’ll be impressed with what I’ve done.

I remember when my grandmother had her last stroke (she had several!).  It affected her ability to swallow and talk.  She loved to do both, so this was a HUGE struggle for her.  She lived in Florida and I was/am living in Maryland.  Hearing of her hospitalization, some of my family and I drove straight through the night to get down there to see her.  It was so sad to see her and not be able to talk to her.  She had a notepad on her table that she would write in to communicate with us.  Not long after we got there, she decided that she didn’t want to have a feeding tube put in.  So, she chose to “go home”.  The hospital arranged for hospice to come and set up camp at her home.  All of the family that traveled down to see her had been sleeping wherever we could find a spot at her house.  When my grandmother found out that we were staying at her house, she immediately located her note pad and penned a little not to my grandfather.  It said, “Is my house clean?”.  I knew what she meant.  She meant, I can’t stand a messy house.   How can I possibly go home and be relaxed if my house is a mess?  Honestly, if I were in her shoes, I wouldn’t be able to go home to die knowing that my house was dirty…it’s just something in me.

That was an awfully sad story to tell, just to make the point that I come by this craziness genetically.  I struggle with this a lot.  Perfection is just an illusion.

Today, though, my house was a mess and I didn’t make a home cooked meal-I nuked leftovers, and to top it all off, I had a Cleaver/Brady day!  How could this be?  I think it has something to do with the look that my son gives me when I ask him if he wants to go outside and ride his bike.  I love the way his hair gets matted to his sweaty forehead because he’s playing hard.  I love the little mischievous smile he gets when he climbs UP the slide, knowing he’s not supposed to.  I absolutely tear up when we’re outside blowing bubbles in the wind and I hear him giggle with the joy of figuring out how to blow just right to get the maximum amount of ‘bubblage’.   My heart soars when he runs ahead of me and turns back to say, “Chase Mommy”, clearly egging me on to chase him down.   Smelling the outdoors on his soft skin and in his hair as he lays his head on my chest for a hug makes me so happy.  It makes me realize that there are something’s more important in life than home cooked meals and clean floors.

Today, it didn’t matter if my world wasn’t under control; if it wasn’t viewed with the perfection lens.  The only thing that mattered was the happiness and joy of my little boy.