Housework can wait
I wonder how many of us ever watched the movie ‘Coming to America’. If you did, I bet you can remember the scene where King Jaffe dismissed a servant with the phrase, ‘Let them wait. I’m talking to my son’. At that moment, all that mattered was the all-important conversation the King was having with his son.
Now as mommies, are we in the habit of telling the world and its cares (which come in form of housework, office work, meetings, hang-outs, shopping trips, salon appointments, etc) to wait because we’re ‘talking’ to our kids? Or is it the other way around? Are we more concerned about a clean house, a salary raise, an uninterrupted night rest and a hot look? Or do our kids come first?
Okay I won’t pretend that responsibilities outside of motherhood should be ignored because in reality, they shouldn’t. However, I believe it’s important that a balance is struck where no matter what, our kids are not neglected in our pursuit for ‘pretty things’. This is because in the long run these ‘things’ will mean nothing if our kids become ‘nothing’.
The approach of a particular working mom is this – when she gets home with her little girl in the evening, she takes out the first two hours to chat with her, feed her, bath her and settle her into bed before her little body gets too tired. Only after all this is done will this mom settle down to her own dinner and house cleaning. It’s a sacrifice she believes is worth making.
In light of the above, here’s a poem, ‘Housework can wait’, which I stumbled upon on amandashome.com…
Come in, but don’t expect to find
All dishes done, all floors ashine.
Observe the crumgs and toys galore.
The smudgy prints upon the door.
The little ones we shelter here
Don’t thrive on a spotless atmosphere.
They’re more inclined to disarray
And carefree even messy play.
Their needs are great, their patience small.
All day I’m at their beck and call.
It’s Mommy come! Mommy see!
Wiggly worms and red scraped knee.
Painted pictures, blocks piled high.
My floors unshined, the days go by.
Some future day they’ll flee this nest,
And I at last will have a rest!
Now you tell me which matters more,
A happy child or a polished floor?