I am compulsively clean. Organization provides me with a sense of calm. With two children, getting things in order can get a little more hectic—and take a heck of a lot longer. But still, I try.
It has gotten to the point where I apologize to people when they enter the house. “Sorry for the mess,” I’ll say. Or I’ll just cancel plans so that I don’t have to deal with the looming chore of getting my house in order—which has led to a social reclusion of sorts. This past weekend, I read an article online that addressed my fears—and provided me with some pretty obvious insight.
The fact of the matter is that it doesn’t matter that my house is a mess. Nobody cares—honestly. When was the last time you noticed that there was underwear on the table at your friend’s house? Chances are that you didn’t (unless he/she pointed it out to you, which is something that I would fully do). Another thing? Things being a mess doesn’t make me less of a mom, no matter what Instagram says. Social media has put this pressure on everybody to make his/her homes photo shoot ready. But in the meantime, life is happening. And we’re all too busy hanging out in the broom closet to enjoy it.
Truth be told, my house is always pretty darned clean. Yes, we have a few dogs, but if you don’t like dogs, we’re probably not close enough to have a hangout (dogs are dirtier than children, hands down). So I suppose it’s time to put down the Windex and roll in the dirt. If not now, when? Because the mess won’t ever stop, but our someday our lives will. So let’s all live a little.
