Fingerprints

This morning I woke up and wandered downstairs. As I turned the light on in the kitchen, I noticed the fingerprints all over the sliding glass door from where the kids eagerly open it up to go play outside with the dog. I noticed the doggie nose prints all over the lower part of the door as she looks outside scanning for cats, squirrels, and birds to go chase. I noticed the sticky maple syrup around the cabinet handle where I pull out the pancake ingredients every morning. I noticed the cat paw prints on the fridge from where she stands on her hind legs, leans on the freezer and peers into the open fridge and smells around (I keep telling her that is not where the catnip is hidden). I noticed the greasy fingerprints all over the kitchen sink sprayer because my girls can't just wash a dish, they have to SPRAY it off every time - and make water spray up onto the window in the process.
I noticed all these things and thought that maybe, just maybe, having a perfectly clean house wasn't all that it's cracked up to be. Maybe I like having all these reminders of the little paws and hands that live with me. Maybe it's okay to just enjoy the warm goodness of maple syrup, and be grateful that the kids are even getting the dishes and the water together.
Oh, who am I kidding? I totally cleaned the kitchen and wiped down every surface that those little gruby hands touch with antibacterial wipes while they were away at school. I erased every shred of evidence that I saw of smudges, prints, stickiness, stains and crumbs. And I enjoyed the cleanliness that was my kitchen for 4 hours.
Then they came home from school and the cat and dog ran all over the place in excitement, and the girls snacked and laid their homework in the crumbs and tossed their bags about and it was messy all over again. Tomorrow I will remember that it WAS clean, and it WAS nice, and Morrie will wonder why don't I ever clean up when I am at home by myself. Then I will pour maple syrup all over him.