There are a lot of really amazing women out there. You know the ones I'm talking about. Those beautiful creatures who are able to run a household with the efficiency of a honey bee and the precision of a brain surgeon. The mothers who have well mannered, perfectly dressed children who always clean up after themselves, the moms who cook beautiful meals every single day and who's floors are spotless. These women are amazing.
You know who else is amazing? My mother. She spent ages of my youth trying to prepare me for the rigors of stay-at-home-motherdom and how I wish I would have appreciated it more at the time. She taught me how to clean, how to bake and cook, how to keep children alive in spite of their daily dedication to killing themselves... all of this while giving birth to and homeschooling eight children. Yes, eight. My mother was perpetually exhausted for most of my childhood. I remember her teaching me how to read and just nodding off. (I couldn't blame her, most of those lessons could put anyone to sleep.)
Sadly, my mother was often ridiculed and teased by friends and even family for doing unconventional things like having more than three kids and homeschooling them all. She and my dad were Christians, but church was never something any of us were forced to attend. She let my dad make a racetrack throughout their 1/3 acre so we (and all the neighborhood kids) could ride around it on our bikes, quads or motorcycles. She was always trying new things, whether it was giving us colloidal silver to drink, trying out ear candling, or experimenting with once a month cooking (which is a huge feat with 10 people to feed!) When she was in her 30's, she and my dad learned how to fly from my grandpa and then she flew her three sisters from El Cajon, California to Tucsan, Arizona for their annual cousin's week. She was a marvel with a sewing machine and I still have some of the clothes she made me as a kid. She definitely set the bar very high, and yet, for all of her shining qualities, many people never gave my mother the props she was due. I think a lot of them just couldn't see past the mess our house was usually in. And you want to know the worst part of it? That beautiful woman I admire so much began to measure her self-worth by her ability to keep a clean house... and consequently, she convinced herself she was a failure. :'(
Now before you fly off the handle on me, understand that I like a clean house as well as the next person. I don't condemn any of you miraculous women who have floors and bathrooms so clean you could eat off of them. I actually admire your ninja mom abilities quite a bit. But I also don't condemn the mother of five who's house always seems to be in a constant flux of chaos or who's children frequently behave like... well, children. To me, you each have beautiful qualities.
The simple truth is that - for me - a clean house is a bonus, not a necessity. I used to pretty much obsess over it, killing myself every day trying to battle the endless toys, clothes, and dishes that seemed to materialize in mere seconds. On days when there were messes, I would be depressed, anxious, and downright angry. I would get mad at my little loves for having the audacity to mess up my just-cleaned-that-morning house, and sometimes, I would even yell at them out of frustration. It took awhile for me to realize the problem wasn't them, it was me. I was so stressed out about how other people might view me if they saw my house in disarray that my happiness became dependent on having a clean house. Like my mother, I had begun to tie my self-worth up into how clean my house was. I was a slave to my house; never wanting to do anything if something needed cleaning. I couldn't give myself permission to have fun, workout, play, write or do anything if my house was messy. What a miserable state. It took a long time for me to realize that a clean house should not be more important to me than anything else.
Right now, there are dishes in my sink, laundry waiting to be processed, floors that need to be vacuumed, and toys everywhere. I will get to them all eventually, but the important thing is that I refuse to be defined by the mess. If your opinion of me as a human being is swayed by a few crumbs under my table or pots on my stove, then I'm sorry. I'm not sorry for the mess, but I am sorry that of all my qualities, the only one that matters is my ability to scrub and sweep. I promise you there's a lot more to me than that.
I love the story of Mary and Martha in the Bible. Martha was very efficient and orderly, wanting everything to go smoothly during Jesus' visit. Mary was more concerned with actually spending time with Jesus, knowing that she wouldn't always have the ability to be with Him. Martha got angry with Mary for not helping get things done, but Jesus gently reprimanded her, saying that Mary had chosen the best thing. Some things can wait and some things can't, but it's up to you to decide what those things are. I hope you will be kind to yourself and not miss out on happy memories because you're too busy maintaining a perfect house. (And if you're one of those epic mothers who somehow manage to do it all, my hat is off to you! You go girl!)
As for me, well, all I can really say is God bless this mess and the people who made it. :)
Rachelle
