I'm not talking about the clean kind. I'm talking about glitter. Today, I balanced Jack on my hip and attempted to sweep the living room floor. It's fairly ineffective to try to maneuver a broom around chunky baby thighs, let me tell you. I was getting hot and tired and grumpy pretty quickly. As I swept (or at least, pushed the broom around), I noticed a pile of something on the floor near the fireplace. At first glance, I couldn't figure out what it was. Then I realized it was glitter...and I smiled.
This is a very unusual reaction for me. Especially when it comes to glitter. Typically, I feel that glitter should only be used in the presence of preschool professionals and should be banned from my home entirely. However, today, as the breeze from the fan blew bits of glitter from the mantel to the floor, I felt incredibly happy.
Up on the mantle, in a special place of honor, was a "picture" Maddie had made for me (then changed her mind and gave it to daddy). Her picture consisted of bright yellow construction paper and a pile of silver glitter. She hasn't quite grasped the concept that glitter requires glue to stay in place.
I wasn't smiling at the sparkling mess on my floor or even at the picture. I was smiling at what they represented:
A darling three year old girl who loves to create crafty masterpieces for her parents.
An independent child who frequently insists she knows exactly what she's doing and doesn't require any help, thank you.
A sense of freedom the kids feel to gather their own craft supplies and create something special, just because.
A richly blessed life. We have the resources to have an abundance of readily available activities for the kids.
Love. A love that goes both ways. From a little girl who made a gift unprompted to the parents who received it with joy, praising her efforts and kindness.
So, today as I awkwardly wielded my broom, I didn't really mind that my "sweeping" was ineffective. Perhaps a bit of glitter left on the floor is not such a bad thing...