Lately I am noticing a sharp decline in the quality of my evening house clean-up. I’m slipping.

My mental and emotional state is intimately linked to my environment. The amount of mess, number of items stacked in little piles, the general stickiness rating of most toddler-height surfaces, increases my agitation as they increase throughout the day or week.

A bottle of 409, a paring knife and a Magic Eraser duly applied after the family is asleep has often returned me to homeostasis and feelings of peace before I move onto writing, reading, consuming celebrity gossip, or e-mailing my friends.

I accepted somewhere in my third year of marriage that my lovable, dependable husband’s tragic flaw, being a premier level slob, was probably never going to change. The house would be as clean as I care to keep it. I was free to choose whether to work with that or make myself miserable. I chose shalom in the home for all our sakes.

And I was successful. . . as long as we only had one child.

Then came my second daughter. As the workload increased, my motivation has slowed. Increasingly, over the past months, I fall onto the couch with a novel, or e-mail my friends and discuss adult and big questions. Often, the dishwasher isn’t running, clothes and food is strewn about, and I go to bed without cleaning any of it.

Frankly, my house is sometimes pretty grubby when I wake up.

I am starting to hear from my own imperfect voice in this matter. I want that “room of one’s own” after the family circus of the day, where I can be alone with my yet unthought ideas and scrambled feelings.

I need more interior room and have started to buy it with the price of organization and cleanliness. My voice is lurching out, messy and unfocused, but worth it. My imaginary weaving together of a tidy, inviting home and a growing space in my own mind is slipping away. My resolve to beat back the forces of entropy is failing, but feels shameful rather than freeing.

Messy, this sorting out a mother’s priorities, hoping to be able to do more than is possible.

By Avvy Mar

Labels: Avvy Mar, bottle of 409, cleaning, Magic Eraser, messy house, one child, room of one's own, slob, two children

Stumble This Post

Play dates make me nervous. I’m thinking about asking my doctor for anti-anxiety meds before I go on the next one.

It wasn’t always this way.

My daughter has been having play dates for awhile but before kindergarten they were limited to a close group of preschool friends. These were friends whose houses could be counted on to be messy and not very stylish. Now that I’ve made it to kindergarten, my daughter’s play dates have expanded to people I know very little and who have a sense of style.

It’s a bit nerve wracking.

Growing up, I only had one good friend who lived at the end of my street. That was it. The kids at my school lived in a different neighborhood and my parents both worked. So, there was no after-school playing with kids in my class.

When the bell rang, I would pick up my lunch and walk home, alone. Then, when I got home, I would call my friend down the street and hope that she was home.

Those were my play dates.

Now my daughter has play dates every week. So far it’s been fun, but often times I notice that I compare myself with the mom I’m sitting across from. I wonder, gosh how much younger is she than me? How does she keep her house so clean? Wow, her daughter has much better toys. Wow, her daughter has better manners than mine. Boy, am I a loser or what? Can I ever have this woman over to my house? Shit, I’ll just have to move or maybe I can rent a single friend’s house for the day? What a minute, do I have any single friends left, much less one who is neat and has a sense of style?

All of these thoughts go through my head as I’m nodding my part of the conversation. Usually, I bring some snack for my daughter. She and I have allergies. But, sometimes, my chocolate chip cookies are looked upon suspiciously. I think it’s the sugar. I know I should bring fruit, but I like the cookies, too!

So, my resolution this month is to just go to the play dates with as little judgment as possible. Oh, and maybe I’ll put on a bit of makeup before I go. That may give my self- esteem a needed boost as I ponder how clean their kitchen floor is.

By Georgie Craig

Labels: anti-anxiety meds, cookies, favors play dates, fruit, frumpy moms, Georgie Craig, kindergarten, messy house, preschool, self-esteem, stylish moms, sugar, Xanax

Stumble This Post