I find it is quite impossible to ever keep up. Unless of course the kids were to go away for a while. But then how empty that would be.
We didn't even have pancakes for breakfast today, but somehow stickiness just happens here.
Lately, I am taking more notice of how often I do straighten the couch's toss pillows, say, eleven times on a slow day. And the bed. I made our bed in the morning (though no one could tell now!) but then it's just so perfect for jumping and cuddling and wrestling and spelunking.
Books. They are everywhere. But I am happy that my kids carry books from room to room, plopping into chairs and under tables, into all sorts of nooks and crannies to read their favorite tale.
In the back of my mind is a constant loop of a favorite poem "Babies Don't Keep"
Where is the mother whose house is so shocking?
She's up in the nursery, blissfully rocking...
...The cleaning and scrubbing can wait till tomorrow
But children grow up as I've learned to my sorrow.
So quiet down cobwebs; Dust go to sleep!
I'm rocking my baby and babies don't keep.
A pile of dishes before me and dirty socks below, I am feeling quite fulfilled tonight.