So, a few weeks ago, I accepted my lot in life. I am a mom. I am home. I can’t work outside the house, so I would make keeping the house my job.
I started with one room. First I cleaned it spotless. Then I realized nothing in there matched.
I pulled a rug out of the garage and shook it out, cleaned it, and laid it in the living room. The dog liked it.
I pulled out a can of paint to touch up all the trim. The can of paint is still sitting where I left it.
So then, I decided we needed curtains. I went and bought pieces of material. I got home and laid them on the dining room table. And there they have been.
And though I have very good intentions, and like to have a clean orderly house, no one else in the house gives a crap.
I know this because if I didn’t do one thing, I could have spent all that time doing something else.
I am not very matronly. By this I mean, I would rather play my guitar than sweep a floor. I would rather set up a website then set up a menu for the week. I would rather mow the lawn than mop the floor.
I would prefer spending hours stripping a piece of furniture then polishing it.
So what I am trying to say is that the idea of being a perfect fifties mom is a great idea. But it will never be me. Yet, I still take offense when someone in the house comments snidely about it’s state of organized chaos.
Truth is, if I did an experiment, and say, left a pile of picture frames in a corner, a can of paint in the hallway, a pile of material on the piano, brooms, mops and cleaning supplies on the floor in the kitchen, a week later, they would all still be in the same place. Not moved an inch. Unless they were blocking the bathroom, fridge, couches or television remote.
So, although I hate it, I will clean. But, I will not try to renovate the house.
I am going to be the me they all know and love. In spite of all the things I was doing, I really would never finish them all. And that’s the truth.
That’s all there is and now, I’m saying good night.