Confetti

Monday we went to Betty Brinn's Children's Museum with Lucy while Coen played at a friend's house.  As we were leaving, I saw one of the staff members vacuuming with one of those push sweepers.  I had a thought which made me laugh and decided to say it to him.  I've been trying to just say stuff  to people when it comes to me (as long as it's funny, kind, interesting or necessary). So I went up to him and smiled. And said, "Wouldn't it be funny if I just pulled a bunch of confetti out of my pocket and threw it in the air?!" 
He looked at me rather wryly. "It would not be funny. I would laugh politely but it would not be funny."
I laughed.  And Tad, who overheard me, shook his head, chuckling too.
"Poor guy." He said.

This made me think.  If you have been reading this blog you know that I spent some time in therapy over the last year and a half.  I won't go into the specific problems and neuroses and brain pathways, but one of the really wonderful results of my work with my therapist is that I no longer obsess about clean orderliness of my house.  I still clean my house--mop, sweep, dust, deep clean...all that. But on a daily basis I don't worry anymore about errant Legos or set up train villages or drum sets in the living room.  Because all of us who have children know this: We can clean our houses. We can put away all the toys-everything in  its place and sweep and scour until it's a lovely vision of spotlessness. But it only stays clean until the children make their return.  So now I deep clean once a month.  Because no matter what I do, the Legos come back out onto the china cabinet and the end tables. The costume box becomes unpacked, its contents strewn about the playroom.  Light sabers are in the cracks of my couch.  But my kids are playing.  And I'm not stressed out.

So a few weeks ago I got a package in the mail and it was inside a box filled with lovely raw, wiggly cardboard shavings.  Coen and Lucy looked upon it with glee.
I shook my head immediately. "No! I just cleaned this house."
I looked up and Tad's eyes met mine. He didn't say a word, didn't even really change his facial expression.  But I got a message.  And I thought this:
I can put the packing material in the recycling, rid us of it. And this moment will pass unnoticed and unremembered. No big deal.  But our lives are so full of unremembered passed moments.... 
So I could make a different choice.
I could let them go crazy on the confetti.  And it would be come a moment that stays with us, something that makes us smile later.
And so we did.
And our living and dining room were covered in confetti and we laughed and threw it around.

I'm still finding it places and showing the children.  And we laugh.

So throw that confetti.  Make a mess with it.  Isn't sweeping it up worth just one more moment that won't simply disappear unnoticed?