My house. Is. A. Mess. It always seems to be that way, even 10 minutes after I’ve done a rage cleaning. My husband says it’s not a mess, it’s just “busy.” I should clarify. Sure, there are dog hair tumbleweeds daily (DJ Roomba mostly picks those up for me) and the baseboards could use a good cleaning, but most of the mess I’m referring to is four pair of shoes strewn about the floor, or a pile of Legos next to four Star Wars figures that I know I’ve told Austin to pick up at least four times in the last hour.
Messes make me anxious. I’m not sure why, but I’m always stressed out when the house seems worse than normal. It’s not like we get a lot of company. I always giggle to myself a little when I clean for company anyway. My grandma was a stickler for a clean house (and it always was clean, so don’t let what I’m about to say make you think otherwise…). She would sigh when she knew someone was coming over and say, “Well, if they don’t like it, they don’t have to come over.” Though, like I said, I don’t know that I ever even saw dust at her house.
Ask my husband how crazy I get. It comes on really fast, and then it’s like I’m a fully
pregnant lady nesting in preparation for labor (or so I assume, as I never made it far enough in either pregnancy to hit the nesting stage). He’ll walk by the kitchen and I’m just scrubbing away on the counter like a mad woman.
I’ve had to lighten up a bit because Aiden (our six month old) does not like to be put down a lot. He’ll hang in his Jumperoo for a few minutes, or sit in his Sit-Me-Up occasionally, but unless you like to hear the song of his people (ie: screeching baby cries), it won’t last long. And unfortunately, most of the cleaning tasks require two hands. I’ve had to switch up my perspective a little bit since he’s been born.
The toy messes mean we’re lucky enough to be able to afford things that my boys want. They mean that I have little people running (or rolling, in Aiden’s case) around our house. They mean that my kids are still young enough to hang out around the house with their weird (and maybe uncool?) parents. I know one day, I’ll wish for these times back. One day, they’ll pass through the house on their way out the door to hang out with their friends and then eventually, they’ll take all their junk and move out.
Does Austin need to learn to be more responsible and help out around the house more? Absolutely. But he’s only nine and sometimes he needs to be reminded five times instead of four to pick up his stuff. Eventually, he does, even though sometimes it comes with a huff or sigh (nine going on 13, apparently). One day not too far down the road, he’ll be asking for $350 sneakers, a new gaming system, and even a car. So I guess I can deal with the Star Wars lot for a little longer.
The busyness won’t last forever. I have to remember that my house really isn’t “messy” it’s just littered with the signs of well-loved boys (and one grown man who also keeps four pairs of shoes downstairs). And if anyone visiting has a problem with that, well, as Grandma used to say, they don’t have to come over.
Ask my husband how crazy I get. It comes on really fast, and then it’s like I’m a fully
pregnant lady nesting in preparation for labor (or so I assume, as I never made it far enough in either pregnancy to hit the nesting stage). He’ll walk by the kitchen and I’m just scrubbing away on the counter like a mad woman.
I’ve had to lighten up a bit because Aiden (our six month old) does not like to be put down a lot. He’ll hang in his Jumperoo for a few minutes, or sit in his Sit-Me-Up occasionally, but unless you like to hear the song of his people (ie: screeching baby cries), it won’t last long. And unfortunately, most of the cleaning tasks require two hands. I’ve had to switch up my perspective a little bit since he’s been born.
The toy messes mean we’re lucky enough to be able to afford things that my boys want. They mean that I have little people running (or rolling, in Aiden’s case) around our house. They mean that my kids are still young enough to hang out around the house with their weird (and maybe uncool?) parents. I know one day, I’ll wish for these times back. One day, they’ll pass through the house on their way out the door to hang out with their friends and then eventually, they’ll take all their junk and move out.
Does Austin need to learn to be more responsible and help out around the house more? Absolutely. But he’s only nine and sometimes he needs to be reminded five times instead of four to pick up his stuff. Eventually, he does, even though sometimes it comes with a huff or sigh (nine going on 13, apparently). One day not too far down the road, he’ll be asking for $350 sneakers, a new gaming system, and even a car. So I guess I can deal with the Star Wars lot for a little longer.
The busyness won’t last forever. I have to remember that my house really isn’t “messy” it’s just littered with the signs of well-loved boys (and one grown man who also keeps four pairs of shoes downstairs). And if anyone visiting has a problem with that, well, as Grandma used to say, they don’t have to come over.
I feel this one in my bones. Between kids and pets, I feel like my house is and will never be as clean as I want it to be. And with my kids all being at very different phases, I know firsthand that this doesn't last forever.
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