...tidying up...

It's a gorgeous day, outside, today.

Crisp and clear...sunny and bright.

The pull of fresh air has my fingers itching at window sashes and doors...the impulse to fling them all open and welcome in the *idea* of spring almost too strong to resist.

It's gorgeous, outside.

But here within these walls, as I pause in the middle of a frantic morning clean up, the bright sunlight highlights all the flaws.  The hairline cracks and chipped paint.  The mismatched touch-ups and faded spots.  The cat hairs and stains.  The fingerprints and finger-paint-prints and nose-prints.

The light streams in from the picture window and draws out dust-bunnies from their dark warrens. It forces its ways in, casting the front rooms into stark relief...multiplying contrast and saturation...drawing the eye to the shabby of our chic.

I've walked away, for a moment.  Taken a time out to stop the rising tide of anxiety.

We've *company* coming today, to celebrate the boys' birthdays.  Company, with a capital C.

C:
for criticizing
for condescending
for comparing
for correcting

And I've taken to the page to exorcise (or, perhaps, exercise) my self-loathing spiral...to step away from the hustle-and-bustle and tousle of rearranging and relocating that 'needs must' when welcoming anyone into our small space.  I've felt the anticipatory panic bubbling up and given myself an 'out' of blank white space and silence for a moment or two...or ten.

Around me, the chaos builds.  A battle of dueling vacuums in the living room.  Drip-drying dishes on the counter. Bin on the floor, overflowing with "clutter": those bits and pieces of daily life that would be scrutinized and sneered at.

Beside me, here at the table, a hastily scrawled 'to-do' list that seems to double in size each time we each set off to complete a task.

So much effort...
So much work...
Just to avert...
No!
Just to minimize the damage of the pointed barbs that will be delivered with such deliberate intent.

So here I sit, breathing in and out...slow and steady...and getting rather heady from the lack of oxygen.  Forcing myself to write it out rather than act it out in slamming drawers and hard-flung doors. Deliberately taking time out to get out...of my own head, of my own way.

It's a gorgeous day, outside.

There's nothing to be done, inside.  Nothing but a quick tidy and rinse. Nothing but a cake to bake (please, oven, don't mess with me today) and decorate. Nothing but a table to set.

Nothing to be done, inside.

Except...that's not true...because Company is coming and no matter what I do, they'll find fault.