I suppose this blog isn't called "think, love, sleep, eat, clean" for good reason.

My house is a sad state of affairs these days. I just can't seem to keep up with the laundry, dishes, clutter, cooking, shopping, animal fur and dog drool (yes, drool)...not to mention the fragile-toddler meltdown managing, round-the-clock nursing, diapering, soothing, playing, crafting, snuggling, etc., etc., etc.  It's a daily source of stress for me, not so much because an imperfect house drives me crazy to look at but because I feel I am failing at part of my "job" as a stay-at-home-mom.  

This afternoon the wee one fell asleep in my arms while putting the older one to bed for a nap.  Since my better half is working today, my options were either to swaddle him up tight and put him in his swing for a nap (so I could take care of the dishes and laundry) or keep him in my arms, rendering them useless for scrubbing and folding.  I chose the latter.  

 The weather today is absolute perfection: 70ish degrees, with impossibly blue skies, a faint breeze and radiant sunshine.  It will likely be one of the last of it's kind for many months.  So the two of us rocked on the front porch for a good hour while he snoozed, I chatted with the neighbors and he got a bit of natural photo-therapy.  It. was. heaven. 

   I'll be honest...I felt pretty lazy.  Our sink is full of dishes from the chocolate-pumpkin cupcakes I baked for a fall picnic with friends YESTERDAY (as well as breakfast and lunch dishes from today).  The washer and dryer are both full.  Our bed is unmade.  What would people think if they saw my house right now??!!?  My floors!  The dryer full of dry but wrinkled clothes!  The empty fridge!  The unmade beds!!! 

Song For a Fifth (or Second!) Child, by Ruth Hamilton. 1958

Mother, oh Mother, come shake out your cloth
empty the dustpan, poison the moth,
hang out the washing and butter the bread,
sew on a button and make up a bed.
Where is the mother whose house is so shocking?
She’s up in the nursery, blissfully rocking.

Oh, I’ve grown shiftless as Little Boy Blue
(lullaby, rockaby, lullaby loo).
Dishes are waiting and bills are past due
(pat-a-cake, darling, and peek, peekaboo).
The shopping’s not done and there’s nothing for stew
and out in the yard there’s a hullabaloo
but I’m playing Kanga and this is my Roo.
Look! Aren’t her eyes the most wonderful hue?
(lullaby, rockaby, lullaby loo).

The cleaning and scrubbing will wait till tomorrow,
for children grow up, as I’ve learned to my sorrow.
So quiet down, cobwebs. Dust go to sleep.
I’m rocking my baby and babies don’t keep.