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Thursday, December 1, 2011

Routine disorder

Meet our Christmas tree…
It’s been sitting in that very state since we brought it home Sunday afternoon (Sean's mom got a new artificial tree and gave us her old one, we just have to figure out why some of the lights aren't working). It taunts us, begging us, please fix me. It’s a sad state of affairs, really. Its branches all astray. Clumps of lights strewn wildly about. The bag carelessly tossed to the side, unmoved since the second the tree emerged.

Lazy, I tell ‘ya. That’s pretty much our only excuse. The house is full of clutter and a bit disorderly. And the giant, undecorated Christmas tree right smack in the middle of the room certainly isn’t helping.


It’s funny how every weekend we manage to restore the house to a glistening clean and we sigh and look at each other and say, “we should really try and keep it this way this week.” And then life gets in the way. We leave the house under the dark morning sky, and return—if we’re lucky—just early enough to see the last bit of dusk fade into the horizon. And since we go to bed earlier than most infants and geriatrics, the time in-between is excruciatingly brief.

So somewhere in the very little time we have to ourselves, I lose my motivation. I don’t want to scrub the dishes or empty the dishwasher. I have no patience for sorting the mail and organizing the recycling. I don’t always want to fold clothes or put things away in their carefully assigned places.

So we don’t. Five days a week we go to work and come home and just be. Sure the house is a little messier than either of us prefer it, and we don’t often have much to show for evening productivity. But the weekend will come around and order will be restored and all will be well. In the meantime, all week-long, we get to do things our way, even if that includes ignoring the broken Christmas tree in the middle of the room for days on end.

And I’m not sure I’d have it any other way.

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