Since the middle of
November this is how I feel I've lived my life.:
Nice, huh? Yes, it's
true. I like to put on a good front and pretend to have it all together (and I
may have even fooled you a time or two). But the truth is, this hot mess has
arrived everywhere for the past two+ months on two wheels like a woman with her
hair on fire. It’s been fun.
Honestly, I don't
remember when exactly I lost control of the whole world. But I do remember
looking at our upcoming holiday calendar one day with fear and trembling
knowing there'd be some priority shifts as we balanced Christmas busy with
every-other-day busy. That's normal. But I haven't recovered and the day to day
has continued to be nuts. It goes something like: wake up, feed the girls,
work, feed the girls, crash, feed the girls, bathe the girls, put the girls to
bed, crash, sleep, wake up, wash rinse and repeat. Notice I did not include 'do
the laundry', 'sweep & mop', 'make the beds', 'wash the dishes' (or even
'load the dishwasher'), or 'dust', because frankly, time
and energy to complete these tasks have been a luxury lately. When I've had
time and energy I've spent both doing other things that - at the moment – have
been higher priorities and therefore better choices. But regardless, time has
to eventually be made, oh, say, once every year or so, to clean the everlovin'
house. Honestly (and I hope I can be honest here), I just have not felt like
doing a whole lot around my house low these past few months, and it has all
caught up with me.
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| This is what it usually looks like. |
Last week I made it to
school on time all but one morning (and on that morning I was late by only 5
minutes - saints be praised). This alone deserves accolades because as you saw
above, the mornings have not always been a friend to me. I do as much as I can
the night before to prep us for the next day, but you can bet dollars to donuts
that something will come up in the morning that will put us behind, and we
leave a mess in our wake. On Friday I thought I'd beaten the system when we all
left on time with smiles on our faces. But when I got to school I happened to
glance down to see a crusty smear of banana oatmeal on the right front upper
quadrant of my sweater (yes, there). I thought, "Cry-mo-ninny. I almost
made it."
And this is just the tip
of the iceberg, y'all.
I've recently begun
calling my master bedroom "Monica's Closet" because I have taken to
shoving things in there just to get them out of the main areas of the house.
Britt and I have a reading nook off of our bedroom which we refer to as
"Staging Area 3". This falls behind "Staging Area 1" (the
love seat in the den where loads of clean laundry are usually piled waiting to
be folded), and "Staging Area 2" (the kitchen counter where we
obviously dump all things coming and going). We call these places "Staging
Areas" because we like to pretend (or, *I*
like to pretend) that the messes are actually just prepping areas for some next
great big moment in life. Like, say, FOLDING the laundry and putting it away
for once. We've made it as high as Staging Area 5 but that was during Christmas
and no one can live up to the pressures of limiting it to 1 through 3 when gift
wrap is involved. At any given point, we have an assortment of all four of our
random belongings stashed in Area 3. As a matter of fact, as I type this I see
an overstuffed Minnie Mouse, a pile of summer baby clothes to sort, a reusable
shopping bag full of who-knows-what, a coloring book and tin of crayons, a
stack of picture frames waiting to have the pictures updated, about 20
Christmas cards that I still need to mail (sorry, y'all), Reagan's
pack-and-play, an old computer, and two mylar Christmas balloons (one of which
is a nearly life size Santa and doesn't creep me out at 4 in the morning at.
all.). On Saturday, my Mom came for a quick visit. I went through the house
that morning with an oversized basket collecting random junk and unloading it
in Area 3. I had been expecting Mom for over a week and this was how and when I
thought best to neaten our little home. I figure I'll get to "the
stuff" eventually. Nothing there is high priority, and it means the rest
of the house is neat. But it took company coming to get it cleared. Britt
walked into the den, saw the love seat, and said, "I totally forgot we HAD
that!" And (full disclosure) I admitted to him one night last week that earlier
that day I had just put trash BESIDE the bathroom trashcan because I was too
overwhelmed to empty the can itself. We agreed this was a new low. (Don't even
judge.)
If you know me, you know
this is not me. I am not a procrastinator or a packrat or a poor housekeeper.
In fact, I am a plan-months-in-advance, neat-freak perfectionist that gets the
shakes when things aren't at least in some sort of temporary order. So, why am
I admitting this, you ask? Why in the world would I tell you this when I would
DIE if you saw it? Because it's real life, people. It is real, messy,
beyond-my-control life right now. I'm in a perpetual state of searching for a
brown sweater while the clock is ticking.
It's a season.
Britt has reminded me of
this lately. (I just have to say, there is a special place in Heaven for this
man. His mansion is going to be HUGE and CLEAN.)
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| This lasted for maybe 5 minutes. |
Life is seasonal. Time
passes much too quickly. We mothers have all probably heard the poem about
cobwebs waiting because we're rocking our babies who don't stay little forever.
And that's TRUE. They don't. They grow into kids who make messes and want to be
fed and keep you busy and create dirty laundry and dishes and make you so happy
your heart wants to bust wide open to the point you see past the crumbs on the
floor because you are HAPPY.
And you are EXHAUSTED.
Be honest. I cannot be the only one. I will just keel over and die this minute
if you are telling me you never get tired or feel overwhelmed. Sure, you may
have found your rhythm and I hope to one day myself, but for now I am wiped. It
sounds great to say, "I let the dishes sit while I read my children a
bedtime story." Makes me want to watch a Hallmark movie. But that is not real life for me right now.
My real life says, "I let the dishes from a passable dinner sit un-rinsed
while I get the little girl ready for her bath and threaten my oldest within an
inch of her life to get in the tub already. I wrestle them both like greasy
piglets and get them a measure of clean and then leave the towels on the floor
while the oldest dresses in too-small, mis-matched pajamas because she's worn
the top with a tutu around the house the day before and now she can't find it.
The better, matched pairs are still in the drier and after stating repeatedly
that no one is going to see them or know any better, I throw up my hands and
say, ’Whatever’. By now it is time to settle the littlest while the oldest
colors and watches Wheel of Fortune or Jeopardy, depending on how late it is.
When the littlest is in bed and the oldest has had a prayer and exhausted all
stall tactics about 45 minutes later - and I have told her if she calls out one
more time I'm incarcerating a toy in toy jail - I finally shuffle back into the
kitchen. Now it's time to clean up the littlest's bathtub and lotions, but
first I need to switch out the laundry so I can sit the tub on the washer to
dry out overnight. When this is done (another 20 minutes later), I glance down
at the crusty dishes and inwardly laugh while I think ‘yeah, right’, then grab
whatever's sweet and fall onto the couch.”
Can I get an ‘Amen’?
Here's the catch: I
can stand this disarray. I'll admit, there have been times I've wondered if I'm failing the girls by not
making it a priority to keep a better house. I know what you’re thinking: “Great
day, Melissa. If you just took one
afternoon a week to get things into shape you won’t have such a mess.” And I get that. I do.
Messes are cyclical like life is seasonal, and I accept that. So, instead I don't lose sleep over any it, and
here's why:
I'm a good mom.
This house won't always
be messy but it will always be home. This is just a season. A season with
Disney princesses and fairies scattered throughout the house and Little People
on the countertops and stuffed animals on the floor by my bed. A season with Goldfish
crumbs and silver glitter on every surface because of a snowflake craft. A season where 6 year old toys mingle with 8
month old toys in a wonderful cluttered explosion of hot pink plastic.
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| This is the 'playroom'. I mean, what is even the point. |
Someone asked me last
week if I had no restrictions on my life and could be doing anything, what
would it be? I was surprised; I hadn't expected that question. But she shocked
me even more by saying maybe I'm already doing it. And I am. I am the happiest
I've ever been. This place is full of
messy and I am full of joy.
One day I will look
around my pristine house. The mess will be gone and so will the girls. I'll be
here in my tidy quiet and remember then what I am so blessed to already know
now: it is better to be tired and surrounded by clutter and be LIVING than to
be neat.
We sure do some
wonderful living in this house.
