The house where the children play.
This Thursday is Christmas, each year I have company, because holidays are easier when I host. Zach has his calming things, I have control over the food so I know what I eat is safe. I have been doing this every holiday for several years now.
Not once has anyone said to me your house needs to be cleaner, or even comment on our mess. Still I do my usual holiday fret over will things be clean enough? What will others think? My house is far from clean.
There are toys, books, papers and bits and pieces of various projects in various stages of completion all over.
Tonight my friend gifted me some old music books. He knows I adore sheet music. I love to read through them and even sit and pick them out on my old piano (I say pick them out; because I really can’t play but I love it anyway)
The 1st song in the 1st book I picked up made me think. The song is called “The House Where the Children Play”*
“On every street there’s a certain place
Where the children gather to romp and race;
There’s a certain house where they meet in throngs
To play their games and to sing their songs,
And they trample the lawn with their busy feet
And they scatter their playthings about the street,
But though some folks order them off, I say,
Let the house be mine where the children play.
Armies gather about the door
And fill the air with their battle roar;
Cowboys swinging their lariat loops
Dash round the house with the wildest whoops,
And old folks have to look out when they
Are holding an Indian tribe at bay,
For danger may find them on flying feet,
Who pass by the house where the children meet.
There are lawns too lovely to bear the weight
Of a troop of boys when they roller skate;
There are porches fine that must never know
The stamping of footsteps that come and go,
But on every street there’s a favorite place
Where the children gather to romp and race,
And I’m glad in my heart that it’s mine to say
Ours is the house where the children play.”
My house looks like kids live here, like they play here.
Yes it is a mess, but it is a mess made with joy, and love.
It is a mess made through discovery and exploration.
So I embrace my mess and kiss my kids and let the children play!
I also am going to try and remember that my family and friends will be here because I am a good cook and a good friend not because I am a great house keeper, hehe.
*Song by Clay Smith, the lyrics are based on a poem written by the author Edgar Guest. From the book “Twelve Tuneful Talking Songs”.