My poor husband. He is married to a slob. There are nicer ways of putting that, but they are less true. I’ve always been a messy person, and it’s not something that appears to be getting better with time. I am a total, complete disaster when it comes to housekeeping (and several other things, but that’s a different post). I have tried checklists and personal rewards, I have paid cleaners, I have solicited family members to help, I have made.up.my.mind that I will be a new person time and time again. But yet there is mess.
When you walk into my home, there are things everywhere. Empty bottles, ukeleles, play doh crumbles, shoes, socks, pajamas, toys, paint brushes, books, you name it. I have spent many tears over my inability to “keep it together” and the feeling that I am failing. Any time someone walks through our door, we are apologizing about the mess. And do you know what? I’m tired of apologizing.
I am learning that it’s ok. It’s ok that there are toys by the front door, because it took me 5 years of praying for children to get to toys on the floor. It’s ok that there are ukeleles and play doh bits on my dining room table and paintbrushes in my sink, because this home is full of life and art and music and I wouldn’t have it any other way. It’s ok that there are books spread across the couch because that means our curious little minds and growing and learning and quality time together is happening. It’s ok that I haven’t washed a bottle in over 24 hours because I have spent many of those hours holding this sweet baby and giving him the food he needs to grow grow grow. It’s ok. Our home is a complete disaster zone, and it’s ok.
So the next time you come to my house, and you worry that a tropical storm may have just come through, I will not be apologizing for my mess. This is a happy, inviting home and I am proud of that.