I always imagined motherhood as a perfectly neat and tidy experience. I was going to raise six perfectly beautiful and healthy children. I was going to have three girls who were always going to be in princess dresses and hair bows. I was going to have adorable little boys in cute sailor suits and adorable shoes. Life would look like the photos that I see on Pinterest or in a Martha Stewart magazine.
Then I married my husband. He's an amazing man, but a cowboy. I can remember his jeans being green with cow mess from working. I can remember hosing them off in the yard of our first little house before I was even willing to throw them into the washing machine. Early on in our marriage I was officially introduced to dirt,and it's a good thing he broke me in when he did.
After three years of marriage we had our first blessing, a girl. As soon as I found out it was a girl, I started buying dresses. I didn't mind that she wanted to dress like Cinderella to go to town. I loved it. I loved Easter and Christmas dress shopping. I loved tea parties and nail polish fests. I loved having a little girl. Then, at about five my beautiful little princess discovered T-shirts and jeans or shorts with cowgirl boots and rolling in black dirt. She hasn't looked back.
I didn't worry too much, I knew we would have more kiddos and I was right. With our second baby we had a boy. And then we had another boy. And then another boy. Then another boy who wasn't able to stay here on earth with us and I just knew our next blessing (if we had one) would be a girl. We found out we were expecting and then, you guessed it; along came another boy. Gone were my ideas of ribbons and bows. Gone were my ideas of more tea parties and nail polish fests. With the addition of each boy who wanted to be just like their daddy I even had to give up my dream of sailor suits and cute shoes. All of these illusions of motherhood were replaced with boots, jeans, and dirt. And I do mean lots and lots of dirt.
There is dirt in my tub and shower. There is dirt in my kitchen sink. There is dirt on my rugs and under my table. There is dirt at the front and back doors. There is dirt in my laundry. There is dirt, tons of dirt in my yard. More than that, there is a lot of dirt on my boys. Age is irrelevant when it comes to this love of dirt, even the one year old gets in on the act of loving dirt.
The good news is, I really don't mind the dirt. I have a broom, an amazing vacuum, and a mop. I have cleaning rags and an incredible washing machine. I have a bathtub to scrub those dirty little boys clean. If none of those things work, I have a garden hose that I'm not afraid to turn on.
More than that, I have the good sense to realize that this stage of life won't last forever. One day I will miss the dirty floors, the dirty laundry, and most of all the dirty faces. I will look back and think that this phase of my life went by just as quickly as our nightly bath time did. I will blink and have no more kiddos at home. All will be clean, just like the little man as he snuggles with his daddy at night.
So forgive me if you come to see us and you find dirt everywhere. Forgive me if I grow misty eyed as I sweep all that dirt up. I know that it won't last forever. More than that I know a little dirt is good for this Mama's soul, it reminds me how temporary this time in my life really is. Most of all, it reminds me of just how blessed I am with four boys and one girl, their dirt and all.
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