Monday, March 4, 2013


My dad is a pretty tidy guy.  Ok...some might even go so far as to say he's a neat freak.  Since I've lived under the same roof as him for all but a handful of my 33 years, I've picked up a lot (but definitely not all) of his tidy habits.  I vacuum weekly with some serious vacuum lines. I do not leave the sink full of dishes overnight.  Our children's toys do not take over our entire house.  I do not play the trash game.
One thing that didn't stick is making the bed.  Dad has made his bed daily, I would say for at least the last fifteen years.  I don't get it.  I don't like to do it, and really I don't see the point if we're not having company.  I didn't really think about how this translated to my children until last week.  We were having friends over, so I made the bed.  Audrey walked in our room, looked at the bed, looked at me and said, "why is your bed like that?"  
Sunday I was in the process of making the bed since we were having small group.  Christian came in to ask for a snack.  He said, "when you're done (pause as he tries to figure out what to say) setting up your bed can I have a snack?"
Alright, so they don't get it either.  I guess maybe I'll need to work on that.
Next week.  Or something like that.

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