What Matters

My mother had this poem on her wall as I grew up. I remembered it while holding Peter one night and wanted it to put in the nursery. 

Cleaning and scrubbing can wait til tomorrow,

For babies grow up, 

We've learned to our sorrow. 

So quiet down cobwebs,

Dust go to sleep,

I'm rocking my baby,

And babies don't keep. 

Heaven knows I have always thrived in an organized and squeaky clean living space. For the first time I've truly had to learn to lower my standards for a clean house. Some days we still mange "tidy," but I'm learning to pick my battles.