savagemama: Sending up the bat signal

A few nights before Christmas I stood at the kitchen sink washing dishes. I stacked, dried and put away then moved on to the picking up of Eliza’s snow pants, Lucille’s dancing dress and everyone’s shoes. It’s been a coping mechanism most of my life, the cleaning. I’ve tidied as long as I can remember. I think when I clean. Somewhere between a sink full of dishes and a long line of snow boots ordered along the wall I sort things out. A friend of mine once said she’s the type of person who can’t write her paper until her room is clean. Oh, I thought, she’s one of my people. I feel the same way. And lately my room has been decidedly not clean. [Read more]