I say blah to the old wisdom, “cleanliness is not next to
godliness.” Whomever made up that maxim didn’t have children tearing through
the house. Their faces are fudge frankensteins terrifying tabbies and tadpoles.
Their room a cyclone in progress. Their clothes belong in a furnace. My young
blessed sons are a bloody mess of Ketchup and Kool Aide. And I miss them so
much while in school. Funny thing is it’s the only time they ever clean up. But
I can live with clean hearts and dirty hands.
