Times Like One of These Days

I am privileged.

Not in the spoiled, rotten, think the world owes me everything type of privileged, but humbled knowing who I belong to, and who He has surrounded me with.

Being injured, with this house full, clearly has consequences.  Since April my home has dwindled to just barely tolerable on the main floor where cleanliness is concerned.  I don't want to describe the basement's state, or the kid's bedroom....let's just say every night as I kissed the little buggers goodnight I died a little, knowing the job would have to be tackled at some point very soon and realizing how much work and how long it will take.  When I am occupied by one thing, others don't get done.  Aggravating.

I mentioned my frustration to my Husband, who is also at a difficult time in his career as it is tax time and the pressure is on to get filed in time before getting whacked with fines and penalties.  He tried to comfort me but his mind was elsewhere, or so I thought.

After a particularly lovely adjustment, I decided to get the basement in order since Spouse was noticing the unpleasantness of sitting in the room to relax but having to wade through whatever to get to the couch killed any mood to do so.  At first I had three small helpers, the two oldest (Supposedly) doing their reading.  Later on I found a city built with Lego, so not much reading went on....*sigh*  As I moved furniture (carefully with my legs, Mom) scraped, swept, sorted, wiped and vacuumed, my three youngest disappeared.  The novelty of helping mommy wears off quickly.  

If I want alone time all I have to do is start cleaning.  It works.  Try it.

Anyway, four hours later, I heard the ruckus of The Man arriving and since I was almost done I kept working, by this time in tears because my neck and shoulders were in so much pain.  Lover checked in on me and immediately scolded me for doing what I did, but understood my motives.  He got me my neck brace, told me to lay down and rest, and took charge of His Household.

He is my Hero. 

Super Daddy took all five children upstairs and put them to work in their bedroom, warning them that they were not allowed to come out until the room was done to his satisfaction.  (Cheer!)  He made me Dinner, put the dogs out, cleaned the bathroom upstairs and vacuumed our room, the hallway, and then stood in the doorway instructing our babies how to properly clean.  He moved beds when needed.  Windows were wiped down.  Clothes were hung in the closet properly.  Meanwhile I am in the basement, wondering what was going on.  It wasn't until the kids were finished and poured downstairs and climbed on my lap or tried to (I can only fit three at a time) that I knew what had happened. 

I cried.

I am married to a wonderful man.  This does not come naturally to him, at least not the domestic part.  He has confessed to me at numerous times that he really doesn't see dirt, or things on the floor or that items may be out of place until he wants something and either can't find it or steps on a toy sometimes breaking it.  He is charming, funny, charismatic, but not a good housekeeper.  This of course has changed.  Seeing my need, my desire for a presentable dwelling, he sprung into action.  I know it was prompted by The Lord Jesus, and I am so very thankful my Saviour blesses me continually.