1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 7, 9, 6, and 8

{I wrote this last night, was planning on finishing it this morning, and then a massive thunderstorm with powerful winds hit. Knocked out the power. So no post — until now.}

Sometimes I count like that.

I don’t know why, but I do. And my kids all count correctly. We go 1-2-3-4-5-6-7-8-9-10, Every single time. And yet, I’ll do silly things like mess up the numbers. Intentionally — just to be a bit goofy — and to have my kids call me on it.

Sometimes we mess up. I know. Let’s take my last night. I walked into the older boys room and discovered that a bomb accidentally went off and every single toy, book, and piece of clothing now made it’s way into a delightful pile of mixed up stuff covering every square inch of carpet.

And I got very annoyed.

I had just spent a good hour cleaning that room earlier in the day. Sorting some stuff. Throwing away. Folding. And then I went to take my father-in-law to the doctors only to come home to this incredibly insane mess. I wish I could tell you that I pulled out the classic clean up song and we worked together skipping while we put away the toys each into their artfully lettered and color coded boxes all the while hugging and enjoying each other’s company.

Nope.

I grumbled. And decided to throw everything into a huge pile blocking the closet. A four foot high pile of stuff.  And those boys looked at me like I was just a bit nuts. I knew it was more work. I knew I wasn’t going in the right order — like that counting mentioned above — but I knew, at that moment, that all I could do was make the most gigantic pile of stuff that I could to demonstrate the wrong order.

Brennan looked at me and told me he thinks we better clean and get rid of some stuff.

I totally agreed.

After my victorious feeling left — I’d say it took a good 7 minutes — I realized that I should go in and chat with Brennan. So I wandered into the deceptively clean looking room — that is until you saw Mount Doom of Toys in the corner — and sat at Brennan’s bed and told him that I was sorry that I got so irritated about stuff.  He knew the order —  we clean and sort and work together and tonight I just made up my own order. I looked at that tender seven year old boy’s face and told him that we’ll take care of it. Together. We’ll put everything in the right order. We’ll clean it up.

1-2-3-4-5-6-7-8-9-10.

I should have done the ol’counting trick of counting to ten before deciding to count my own way. It’s okay. It’s all learning. And saying you’re sorry. {And deciding to have a massive garage sale. Or donating.} And picking up, right where one left, and starting again.

If you don’t hear from me for a while it’s because I’ll be whittling down the toys one by one.

And giving those boys some hugs from mom.

***
{thanks for the votes yesterday for the AOP Media Awards. If you’d like to vote again today here’s the link  AOP Awards }