One would think that moving into a house that is twice as big as the one before would mean that there would be more space and less clutter right? Absolutely wrong. More space means just that more to fill up with toys, books, coloring pages, crayons, blankets, socks, shoes….the list goes on and on.
(this is my bedroom at this very moment…keep in mind it was clean this morning)
I used to be a clean freak. And in freak I mean you could literally eat off my tiled floors. I would spend hours cleaning even though I absolutely hated every minute of it. Guess you could say I had a bit of OCD. Even after I had my first child I still tried to keep up with the perfection of cleanliness. As a mother you know what it is like after bringing home the first baby…you think everything that could happen is going to and that germs are the pernicious demons. Like I could literally see the germs festering. I don’t think I slept much in the first several months after bringing B home from the hospital. And when I think back to it this sort of fog comes over my mind.
By my third child it was abundantly clear that cleaning was no longer at the top of my list anymore. I had a 2 year old, 1 year old, a newborn, and a husband who worked out of town and was gone most of the time…oh and two teenage step sons to deal with…you could say I had more then enough on my plate. But the mess still bothered me. There were some days I would clean up my bedroom and then just hang out in there not venturing into the messy parts of the house. It was my cave and it was clean.
Now as my kids get older the messes seem to get bigger and I have realized that I am out numbered 3 to 1. Some days 5 to 1 because the teenage boys in the house like to do things such as stuff socks into the couch and leave half contained glasses of putrid liquid lurking in the shadows. My 14 year old’s room is so scary that I keep the door closed and never go in there. It looks like a waste haven. We discovered he was the messier one when the two older boys each got their own room. They used to have to share a room and it was a constant “he did it…no he did”. Well now we know.
When I finally do tire of the mess and decide to clean I just think to myself why bother cleaning when we all still live here. It just seems so pointless because literally 30 minutes later the toys have been drug out or someone has eaten and made a mess in the kitchen and someone has touched the outside of the dishwasher (will they ever have a dishwasher surface that is truly smudge proof?).
Needless to say my OCD has subsided through the years in which I probably have Zoloft to thank for some of that. Now don’t get me wrong…if I know someone is coming over I will do a quick run through the house like a mad woman on crack. Therefore if you just drop by unannounced (which I hate I might add) be prepared to step on a lego and enter at your own risk…I am not responsible for what happens because you failed to give me a heads up.
Now if you have boys there is always going to be the faint smell of pee in the bathroom and no matter what you try to mask it with, it just doesn’t seem to work. I think it stems from the middle of the night bathroom urges in which they stumble to the commode and then proceed to mark everywhere but inside it. You would think they would just learn to sit down and urinate.
I have thought of getting a ROOMBA, but then it dawns on me that “toddler nation” would probably destroy it. ((Pictures children trying to ride the $400 vacuum)). Not to mention it would probably give our poor german sheppard an anxiety attack.
(where do I get one of these?)
Right now I should probably be cleaning something or folding some laundry but instead I am catching up on some blogging and you know what? I don’t care…the mess will still be there tomorrow and the next day and the day after that and I am ok with that. I am ok because it’s my family and it’s our mess. Now where is my wine and febreeze?
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