It was inevitable. I put it off as long as I could but there was no denying that it had risen to the top of my to do list. 

I had to clean the sewing room. 

When sewing students arrive every week, and yank fabric off the shelves, and change their minds and yank another color which gets cut into spaghetti scraps, then wander over to the ribbon basket and pull out the entire contents in search of the egg shell blue they want, and end up at the button can and spill all ten thousand of them for the sheer pleasure of sifting the many colors and shapes through their fingers... the  room gets messy. It was time.

I started by pulling off the shelf labeled Christmas, and refolded every parcel of red Santas and angel cherubs. Then I emptied the batik shelf, and carefully sorted them by color. Next the contents of the animal shelf came down, and I refolded every print of monkeys, pandas, horses, fish and penguins. 

The twins came looking for me, and exclaimed their approval.

"Mom! It looks amazing!" They were referring to the three reconfigured shelves. Their approval helped me keep going. Then I gazed down and noticed what they had overlooked in their effort to encourage me. The floor was a mountain of unfolded, wrinkled cloth. But they said nothing about it. 

It did not occur to them to criticize me about the disheveled pile. I knew it was there. They trusted that it was my intention to tame it.  Then they would come back and cheer again.

I recalled how many times I walk into the kitchen and notice not the clean stove top, or the stack of scrubbed pots, or the hum of the dishwasher running. Instead I spy the dirty cups that were left over, and shrug. 

I have a lot to learn about family life. Correction. I already know it. I just need to put it into practice.