Why I Don't Apologize For My Messy House Anymore

If you would have happened to stop by my house a couple of years ago, our conversation would have probably gone something like this:
"Hey, it's so good to see you. Sorry my house is a mess. I've been trying to clean but my kids keep creating messes that I can't seem to keep up with."
You would have been polite and said something like this,
"Oh, don't worry about it. It looks great. It's so hard to keep a house clean with kids."

Not. Anymore.

Now you come over and I try not to say anything.
I own it. Did you hear me? I OWN it.

I've had at least one toddler roaming my Sherwin-Williams beige painted walls for over 15 years now. I have another 15 years to go.  I keep painting them. And washing them. And painting some more. It's not as if I don't try to keep my home looking fresh and clean. I do. In fact, I believe in the age old proverb that indeed,  "cleanliness is next to godliness."  But I also believe something even more.

I believe that to embrace motherhood in its entirety, you will miraculously find yourself reverently wondering if God could possibly love you just as much as you love the little hands that leave dirt on your walls. And suddenly, the dirt on the wall becomes a sacred stain that forces you to understand how much you, yourself, are truly loved by your creator. The stain becomes an emblem. A flag of victory. A sealing to your calling in this life.
I am a mom.
I choose the little feet before the little messes. I choose the building blocks before the building frustration.
There's one thing that occupies my mind each day.
"In 15 years...what will I regret the most?"
It shapes me.  It haunts me.
I know I won't regret a messy house, but I will certainly regret a missed moment.
I will regret not pushing my child on the swing, or playing tackle football in the yard.  I will regret not going to the park or playing in the mud. I will regret yelling. Or losing my cool. I'll regret not pushing trains around the track and not memorizing all the names of the fiercest dinosaurs. I will regret not putting down the phone when they ask me a question.  I will regret not making them mow the lawn. I will regret not letting them light fireworks in the driveway and matches on their birthday cakes. I will regret not letting them struggle to solve their own problems.  I will regret not laying down at night with each child in their bed, reassuring them of my love. Even when they ask me not to.
I try to spend my days doing the things I hope I will never regret. Not the things I hope you see.
You will see my house and you will see my kids.
If you happen to see the sacred stain on my painted walls, I just want you to know,
I will not apologize.
I choose them.