the mess

I hate glass top dining tables. I don't like the sound a drinking glass makes when it hits the table. I don't like when leaned on, the suction cups let loose and the table comes up. And the fingerprints!

My friend Stacey LOVES her glass top table. She loves it so much that she talks about how much she loves it-while she is cleaning it. Bleh.

Our family spent a couple of months in Panama last year. Beautiful high rise apartment, rooftop pool, doorman... glass top table. Really? I remembered very quickly that I hated the table. A two year old, a four year old and the fresh fruits of the Carribean... mess. Toward the end of my time I really began to dissect this hatred.

What did I hate the most: that it got so messy or that I could see the mess? When the top was wiped, the underside was still gross. I mean, my regular pottery barn cafe table gets messy, too. But I can't see the mess. How much had I missed on the underside of my table at home?

This is what I decided: the mess reminds me of how much work I still have to do. I can't ignore the mess if it's glaring at me. I can't walk away from the table if it is obviously still dirty underneath. And there's my life... admittedly open, authentic, see-through. I can't get frustrated when I see the work I still have left. When I think I've gotten it all, there's the underside. At the end of the day I, more than anything, want to be clean. Usable for the next experience. Ready for the next thing.

Get you dish rag ready, Jesus. We got cleaning to do.

the forbes boys in panama,  christmas day, at our glasstop table

- jill