Lived-In

A tug on my arm slows us down to a halt on the gravel road.  Pretty blue eyes blink up at me, holding up a less-than-glittering rock.  "Look, Mama, I found something interesting!" she declares, and drops the rock into her plastic baggy.  We continue down the road.

Everyone else has gone off to soccer practice, but my middle girl wanted to stay with me so badly I couldn't say no.  Her tearful pleas left only tiny streaks as evidence on her face, and now she skips along happily,  eyes on the ground as we walk.  Since we've been sick, this is my only exercise, a stroll the long way around to the mail box and back home again.

On these recent walks, there is one house that draws my eye as we pass.  It sits close to the road, and it's neatness is always noteworthy.  The grass is cut to perfection, the driveway is clean, the front steps don't appear to have a speck of dust.  The blinds are always drawn, and I never see anyone in front of that house.  I know someone must live there since the outside is so impeccable, but all I ever notice is how still it is, sitting there in it's tidy glory.

Clarice stops for another treasure to add to her bag, and I grin because she never quite goes for the rock that stands out the most.  She sees something in the rocks that my gaze passes over.

We grab the mail, and we trudge up the hill until I see our home.  No tidy glory to be found here.  The driveway is covered by pine needles, and fighting them is a losing battle - pines much older than me shade out driveway, and they make their presence known.  It looks messier than I'd like, but the sun warms the scattering of needles into something spicy and sweet, the smell of mountain woods.

Bikes are strewn all over the driveway, and I make a note to have the kids put them away later.  Airy curtains are pulled back from our front window, and inside I can see an unruly stack of books that needs sorting.  Our noisy dog whines as we open the door, and the welcome sign out front is a little crooked from all the jostling it gets each time a child runs outside.

Evidence of children playing, wild mountain nature infringing, and chores that don't quite get done - memories of games played, friendly faces waving hello, and curtains thrown wide so they can see us waving back - these are the things I notice about my own house as we return from our walk.  There have certainly been times when I have wished to keep the outside of our house tidier, but even when I manage to achieve some well-manicured curb appeal, I look at our house and it's unavoidably lived-in.  And I like it best that way.