I've spent all week spring-cleaning my habitat. I'm talking decluttering, wiping down, dusting, vacuuming, mopping, exhausting cleaning. Today I worked on the kitchen. And I'm beat. (Perhaps the Sesame Street viewing was part of a larger effort to distract the resident toddler from my cleaning out the fridge, the worst of all the chores.)
Spring cleaning is hard work, but I can't say that I hate it. Because here's the thing: I like my habitat. Love it, even. And I love taking care of that habitat.
I love all those small handmade gifts collected and cared for over the years.
I love my new mantle and the seasonal vignettes I get to put together.
I love the decorations I've made and the ones I've found at Target.
I love the vacuum lines on carpet, however fleeting.
I love throwing out the unnecessary so I can better enjoy what I have.
I love filling my home with meaningful and intentional stuff. Not pointless stuff, but me stuff.
I love those small things like the sparkly burlap placemats I found on clearance at Homegoods and that refrigerator magnet of my sister and me from ages ago.
I love my habitat even in its mess, because messes like this mean that my habitat is both lived in and cared for.
I especially love that I share my habitat with this little man, because seriously, he's the cutest kid I've ever known.
I also love sharing my habitat with Josh, even when it means that lone socks in the couch are ever-present in our habitat.
I love that my habitat is a reflection of my people and is a place where I feel close to my roots.
I am looking forward to next week when the spring cleaning will be finished, because that will mean that I can finally get back to my sewing machine. (Oh, sewing, how I've missed you!) For now, though, I'm okay with the work and the sweat. Because the thing is that having this habitat at all is a great blessing, and I'm not about to squander it.