I'm not sure if this is a profound theological insight or just the result of goofing on too much chocolate and coffee today (my meals today have consisted of chocolate stars, coffee poured over Land O' Lakes Supreme Chocolate cocoa mix, a peanut butter patty and a coworker's Magic Cookie bars)...but how ironic is it that, two days before we celebrate the entrance of God into our enfleshed existence, my mind is consumed with thoughts of...dirt?
My house is a wreck. It looks like animals live there...which, of course, is true. My floor crunches. (Thanks in part to a little dog who, served a new brand of dog food with a variety of different flavor nuggets in it, proceeded to vigorously fling the less tasty ones in a three-foot radius around the dish.)
For the past week I have resolved, each night, to vaccuum/wash/carpet shampoo my floors. Each evening I have wound up doing other things. I've cleaned; some good elbow grease cleaning, as well as the more creative kind that involves temporarily moving stuff into the Scary Middle Bedroom Whose Door Is Always Shut.
Tonight I have no more excuses. The tree is trimmed. The presents are wrapped. The baked goods are baked. The toilet is disinfected. The pile of miscellaneous things on top of my dryer has been relocated, in pieces, to more appropriate storage areas. Furniture has been dusted.
I wonder if I should make another batch of cookies or something.