Airing My Dirty Dishes

My house is a mess. Lately, though, I've not had much luck finding the motivation to do anything about it. It seems, right after I do, someone inevitably comes behind me to undo all that I've done. If I wipe something, someone smears stuff all over it. If I pick something up someone is throwing something else down. If I clean it, grubby hands come out of the wood works. And the laundry. Oh the laundry. The Never Ending Story should have been all about the woes of laundry. So I've come to the place where I must ask myself "what's the point?"
Last night I watched a show where a mom had an opportunity to leave the house and work outside the home for a weekend. She did so well she was offered a full time job. A part of her wanted to do it but ultimately she decided that she was more needed at home, with her children. Whenever I see things like that (Marley & Me brings me to tears for more reasons than the dog) I feel that familiar pang. I know what that feels like. When I was working I loved doing what I did. I was confident, efficient and orderly. When I left work everyday I knew that I had done my job right. Not only that but I had done a really good job. I could see the fruits of my labors. It was so very satisfying.
So as I look at my messy house. As I hear my daughter, with a scowl on her face, stand and tell me she doesn't like me anymore. It begs the question, "I left that for this?" Strangely the mom guilt does not surface in the least when I have thoughts like this. Because what I'm doing is a sacrifice. As sacrifice wouldn't be a sacrifice if it didn't hurt. If I didn't "feel" it. To steal a line from a favorite movie, "If it wasn't hard then everyone would do it. It's the hard that makes it great." Making this realization has become so very empowering to me.
Now, if only I could empower someone to come and do my dishes.

Be empowered