Usually the words are, Tighten up, Brietta; or Crack down on this, Brietta. I have to be more diligent to be hard on myself in an area, whether it be in taking time to read the Word instead of becoming a vegetable in front of the TV or forcing myself to stay consistent in correcting my children.

Sometimes, though, the word is to loosen up. And, for me, it's been a season of hearing this regarding my house.

My many good friends and family in Pittsburgh can probably testify to how particular I am about having  clean house. My sisters definitely can, and my mom can--and I'd even bet that my brother can, too. Let's not even start on my husband's friends, 'cause I'm getting tired of linking.

I like things clean. And there's a lot to be said for cleanliness.

But, let's be honest: I've got three children ages three and under. It's easy for me to spend an entire day running around after them in a frenzied effort to keep the house tidy, not to mention squeezing the other important jobs--like cleaning the bathrooms, mopping linoleum floors and organizing closets--in the little bit of time that I might be lucky enough to have all three of them sleeping simultaneously.

The problem is that this frenzied mom and wife is often all that's left to be found by the dinner-hour. And when I'm grouchy with my husband, irritated by my children, and void of all peace and joy because the kids made a mess too big for me to clean up or I never got the chance I wanted to clean the laundry room, I am sinning.

Yup. Sinning.

This past weekend I found out while I was out of town that my husband's mom and youngest sister would be landing at our place the next night. Of course I was delighted to be able to spend time with them; but my mind immediately began that frenzied mental perusal of the house--from the laundry basket and garbage bag that are the "fill in" until I can get a dresser for Jackson to use, to the bathrooms that hadn't been cleaned in almost a week, to the dusty nightstands in my bedroom. Daniel looked at me the minute he saw that look in my eyes. "They don't care, Brietta. In fact, they understand!"

I know... I know. People are happy to give me a break.

I am the one who can't give myself a break.

So, yeah. I'm learning to loosen up. And I'm a lot better than I used to be. I daresay a bunch of those Pittsburgh friends would be rather surprised a lot of days to find that the lampshades are dusty and a refrigerator shelf sticky. There might even be some shock at the condition of the windowsills (mostly due to not having a vacuum hose that works, but I'll pretend it's because I'm learning to chill a bit) and Daniel's dresser-top. But they'll also find me smiling and enjoying my children a bit more, and freaking out and sinning with my attitude a bit less.

I don't think I'll ever completely get over wanting things picked up and tidy, but I'm also not sure I want to. What I do want is to view a messy family room and piled dirty dishes as a sign of life and blessing instead of as an annoyance and cause for stress. People tell me that one day I'll miss these little people who are the reason for such things, and I'm trying to remember that.

*EDIT* Some of the things I'm particular about are just weird and I simply have to get over it; it has nothing to do with having children and everything to do with me being a freak about things. Like the fact that I like the kids books put away in a certain order--grouping the "types" of books. Seeing as how they only own one shelf of books, it really isn't necessary. And it's just another thing that I find myself following behind them and "fixing."

Yeah, I know. Needless.