All the Little Things

In this new non-working life, I have set myself a bit of a routine. It’s not etched in stone, but it gives me some incentives and goals and helps me keep track of which day of the week it is.  Going to work used to help with that, and even knowing which television shows were playing on a given day would always help me know the day and date. Being at home full time now and cutting the cable tie, I can’t for the life of me remember what day of the week it is. Friday is the exception because it has been “Grandma Day” for 10 years. The need for a new routine prompted me to have a weekly to-do list. Thursday is dusting day.

Dusting is my least favorite household chore. It feels like a never-ending battle. Having to move stuff to dust around and under just doesn’t seem efficient. I keep downsizing clutter every time I dust so I don’t have to dust that again. I kind of like housework. Clean feels good to me. I feel accomplished on the days that the house smells of white vinegar and Pinesol. I plug in my favorite tunes and get after the sweeping, mopping, wiping, vacuuming. I don’t even mind toilets. But I don’t enjoy anything about dusting. One time when visiting my mother-in-law (and by the way, she was an amazing person whom I loved dearly), I noticed she had a LOT of knick-knacks everywhere. I know she enjoyed all those bits of memorabilia and statuary, but I asked her if she ever got tired of dusting them because I didn’t enjoy dusting at all. I’ll never forget her response. She looked at me with a somewhat disapproving look and said, “Then you must be doing it wrong”, and promptly gave me a lesson in dusting. Keith and I still laugh about it. I tried her method, but it didn’t help me enjoy dusting any more than before. 

So Thursday came along and I procrastinated as long as I could about getting out my dusting supplies. I’m normally a “get after it and get it over with” girl, but I can put off dusting like nobody’s business. I rounded the corner to our living room to get on with the dreaded process and there, in the middle of a glass-top side table, was a toddler-sized hand print in the dust. I looked at it and it gave me pause about wiping it off. The hand that made that print would not stay little for very long. It was like a little piece of art that stopped time. 

That perfect, small handprint from our two-year-old granddaughter was a little gift that reminded me how precious time is and how we should never overlook the little things that bring us joy. I dusted everything but that table just so I could enjoy that tiny handprint a bit longer. Our grandkids are growing up so fast and the moments I have with them are treasures. 

I never want to overlook the little things. I want to notice that robin building a nest in the tree outside our bedroom deck. I want to remember the smell of my husband cooking his amazing spaghetti sauce in the kitchen. I want to take the time to respond to our oldest granddaughter’s text message complete with stickers and emojis. I want to document sunsets and sunny days and never take them for granted. We get caught up in all the big things of life and what’s in the news and the cares and worries in the day to day and tend to miss the little things.

Let’s give ourselves the opportunity every day to appreciate the little things. It takes being intentional to let ourselves see and be grateful for all the little pieces and components of life that add joy. Let’s remind ourselves to slow down, watch, observe, ponder the moments. Life is short and it goes by so quickly. Let’s not be swept into the whirlwind of busyness that keeps us from embracing the tiny handprints. Maybe I’ll just let that table stay dusty for a little while longer.