I live in a hoarder’s shed.
Ok, whatever.
Maybe I don’t.
But that’s what it feels like sometimes, as a mom of three messy kids whose things are strung from one end of our house to the other and stuffed everywhere in between.
All the time.
And as a Type A who wants everything neat and tidy, separated into labeled Container Store bins, and put out of sight, the struggle is real.
Last week, I found:
Nine pairs of shoes in our back yard.
Three coats under our sofa.
Pieces belonging to five different board games in a Winnie The Pooh roller bag.
Three dirty lunch boxes in one bedroom.
And socks in my dish towel drawer.
Oh, and not too long ago, I also found this on the back of one of our toilets.
Who eats on the toilet?
Oh, that’s right. Apparently, my kids.
And when it comes to play? Like everything else in the lives of my children, they don’t play “small.”
Play is big.
Very, very big.
So it’s not just a board game or two that are out of whack. They’ll turn our living room into a live theater, which involves stripping beds of sheets, stringing knitting yarn from one column to another, setting up light kits, and dragging out all sorts of costumes and props, some of which might remain there for days, maybe even weeks after the theater troop has left town.
The tension this creates for me is a real problem.
Because I treasure the fact that my children love each other, that they want to play with each other, and that they play in such creative ways, from crafts to comedy. But I struggle with the fact that their play results in frequent visual cues that our house (and symbolically our life) is in constant disarray, and I have work to do.
Yes, much to my dismay, it appears that my life with three kids and without a live-in housekeeper just doesn’t include a clean house. Which often makes me crazy and makes it impossible for me to relax.
Like ever.
It’s all clean clothes in the dirty clothes hamper and dirty clothes on the floor.
Sippy cups and water bottles stuffed between the cracks in the sofa and remnants of popcorn mashed into the space between the threads of carpet on the floor.
An obstacle course at the bottom of our stairs where the things they’ve drug down from their rooms remain in piles, waiting to be taken back up again. (Oh, if they would just take them up one time without having to be asked.)
Toilet paper strewn all over the bathroom and toothpaste all over the counter.
And half-baked craft projects?
Everywhere.
Have I told you that I loathe crafts?
One said child likes to take index cards from the kitchen desk, stack them on top of one another, and staple them together down one side like a book. Then he leaves these little gems all over our house for me to find later.
What is he doing?
And do you think he puts the stapler away when he’s finished?
Not a chance.
Empty-nesters. I know. I know. “Someday I’ll miss the mess.”
Except that I WON’T.
So consider yourself warned.
I love you. I really do. And your wisdom is such a blessing to me.
But if you dare comment in reply to this post that someday I’ll miss the science experiments I find growing in food containers in the back of the car or the thousands of lego pieces and teeny tiny colored rubber bands that are strewn all over the floor, I’m paying you a visit. And I’m bringing the Kid’s Crest with me…
A mama needs time to vent.
And I’m taking my turn.
So don’t say a word.
Not. A. Single. Word.
(Ok, fine. You can say a word. Just don’t tell me I’ll miss it someday.)
(Wink.)
I realize that, by now, you’re all probably laughing. And it is funny, the shenanigans kids engage in from time to time. But in all seriousness, this has become an issue. Because I’m struggling to find harmony between my kids’ abilities to be tidy and my expectations. And I’m at a loss for how to merge all of that with my desire for our house to feel like a home, not a sterile structure where nobody lives.
I don’t like the mother I’m becoming as a result of the frustration and anger that’s fueled by the condition of the house I’m living in.
I want to relish my kids.
And I want to soak up every ounce of time I have with them.
I can’t, though, because I’m frustrated and angry and tired.
They’re messy.
And I’m certain they can do better.
In fact, I’ve SEEN them do better.
So many times.
But life has gotten so busy. And there are so many of them. I’m exhausted with the oversight required to keep them on task with regard to their family contributions while still allowing time for play and fun.
But I also have a confession to make.
Despite their messiness, my expectations are unattainable.
So we’re finding ourselves in a vicious cycle of mess making and cleaning, and a whole lot of mom frustrated and angry in between.
I’m over it.
I want to change.
But I want my kids to change too.
Honestly, though, I’m not sure how to fix it. Because we’ve been on this treadmill of mess, frustration, and anger for a while now, and I don’t know if we can actually get off.
So today I have no wisdom for you. No words of encouragement. Absolutely no inspiration at all.
This is a cry for help.
And I’m praying that this little tribe of readers I love so much will come through for me.
If you’ve found yourself in a similar place with your own kids and have identified a workable solution that’s brought peace and harmony to your home, I want to hear from you in the comments. I’m sure others do too, because I find I’m rarely alone in the struggles of life as a mom.
What got you through it?
How did you fix it?
And if it was a little of them and a little of you contributing to the problem, where did you find the balance?
My prayer is that fresh eyes will bring fresh perspective and a word of hope. That some of you may provide creative ideas for me to try so we can break this cycle, punch through to a new season, and go about the business of enjoying one another in our home.
(Even if it is a little messy.)
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