I beat Meg in the dirt department tonight. I realize that might not mean anything to many of you, but those of you who know my little sprite, must realize the importance of this achievement!
Meg is an outside girl. She is a different person entirely when she’s outside. Completely charming and darling. Indoors, well, she’s completely…sprite – a bit mischievious and temperamental. And being such a charming girl while outside, Meg is outside as much as is appropriate, at my command.
Following this logic, being outside a lot means a lot of the outside comes in with her. Sometimes it can be rinsed off in the shower with a good scrubbing. Sometimes I find it spread throughout the house in the form of rocks that look like phone receivers, sticks that have been peeled and notched to make archery bows, dandelion bouquets in cups artfully arranged on the library table. Still, charming.
The dirt, however, is less than charming.
Those of you who know me know I used to be somewhat like Meg…eons ago. However, somewhere along the way I began to appreciate, well, being a girl. And along with that, I learned to appreciate cleanliness. Clean clothes, clean house, clean dishes, clean me! I like to look clean and smell clean. Which doesn’t mean I have a problem with dirt. I just appreciate clean more. Especially in my house.
So at the end of the day, when Meg comes in to get ready for bed, I often find myself gasping in astonishment and (yes, I admit) disapproval at the amount of dirt that comes in with her.
Until today.
When we got home, Meg and I both chose to spend our evening outside. (Kate is suffering from really bad allergies so she opted for the safety of the house and Benedryl.) We both got greasy fixing our bikes up for the season. We both got dusty messing around in the garage. We both got grass stains running about the yard. Then Meg went to boss the neighborhood kids around and I went to work on the yard.
It’s Earth Day you know. And what better way to pay homage to nature than by being out in it and taking care of my tiny piece of it. So I mowed the grass, picked up trash, raked leaves out of the mint patch, pulled dead morning glory vines off the fence, trimmed the climbing rose and hydrangeas, and cleaned out the compost pile. Then I christened the yard by refreshing the bird bath and setting out the bird house over the mint patch.
When it was time to come in, Meg and I stood side by side at the sink to wash our hands. Meg noticed it first. And it was her disappointment that cued me in to the significance of my dirtiness. She was actually disappointed that I had dirt under my nails, caked up my arm and smudged on my face, grass stains on my elbow and knee, cuts on my fingers and forearms and grass in my hair. She wasn’t nearly as dirty.
I was appalled. Then Meg, in usual sprite fashion, shared her insight. “Mommy, God made dirt and dirt doesn’t hurt.”
She was right. I felt wonderful.
