Nesting.

I’ve come to the conclusion that nesting has nothing to do with the hormonal woes of pregnancy.  Unless I’m pregnant.  But I’m not – not as far as I know.

But seriously, every time we get a phone call telling us that we have new children coming to stay, you should see me in all my Martha Stewart glory!  We’re talking scrubbing down the floors and walls on my hands and knees, organizing closets, changing sheets that haven’t been slept in, and running my poor husband ragged with rearranging every room in our home.  Unless my hormones are seriously in tune with the caller id saying “Intake Department” that can’t be it.  It feels a bit more like adrenaline that propels these aggressive cleaning binges.  Some people go to the gym, but that just doesn’t seem nearly as productive- in the short term anyway. 

 

We have two little ones coming tonight – just for the weekend.  And you better believe that I’m about to go cleaning crazy on this mess of a house.  Which doesn’t make a ton of sense, since adding a three and a four year old to this mix will ensure that the house will look like a tornado hit it by Sunday.  But oh well.  I must satisfy the urge.

 

My friend Katherine prescribed that it has to do with control.  Which is probably spot on.  When we get called with a placement, there’s not much that I do have control over except for the dust bunnies in the corner – so that’s where I start.  It’s therapeutic.  And while I have to trust God with everything else, I think that nesting is the outlet he gives me to exercise my apprehensions right out.

 

So, nest I will.

I’m going to go clean out the microwave.

A beautiful mess.

As I was vacuuming yesterday, I noticed something about my house that just didn't seem quite right. I went through the living room and the vacuum didn't pick up any cheerios or raisins. I didn't have to pick all the books up off the floor and put them back on the bookcase in order to vacuum the entryway. I could actually get the vacuum INTO the playroom! That's right folks...
MY HOUSE STAYED CLEAN THIS WEEK!
And I'm just not quite as thrilled as you would think. I've decided that anytime I can go a whole week without the house being completely destroyed - our home is missing something. Soon Sylvia will be making messes all over - that are not of the diaper variety - but this week our house was void of those messes, and I actually missed them. I'm even tempted to call my worker and let her know about this situation that needs to be remedied asap:
Fill our house with whining! Fill it with laughter! Fill it with running! Fill it with naps, snacks, and more poopy diapers! Fill it with messes!

I was explaining all of this to Brian last night over dinner, and he came up with this hypothetical graph (I know you can't believe Brian would do this. In between graphs he mentioned something about his last name being Popp.). I probably rolled my eyes and called him a dork. Anyway, he said that the messes must have direct correlation with the joy in our home. That is until they reach some critical mass where they intersect with my sanity, then the joy begins to decrease even as the messes increase.
Wow. I can't believe I just included that in a blog post. Any of you Popps reading should be proud. Ha!
Overall though, I think he's right. It reminds me of something my mother-in-law told me - The kids remember how much you loved them, not what the living room looked like.

All that to say, I'm looking forward to our next call from the agency saying their sending a little more mess our way.