Once, my home gleamed with cleanliness. I relished mopping the floors, relishing the dual benefit of a good workout while sprucing up the place. My pantry was a model of organization, with cans lined up like soldiers, and the spice rack was sorted alphabetically. I convinced myself that with my husband’s only flaw being the occasional towel drop, I was fortunate. I even hung a fresh towel on the rack with a grin.
Then came the kids—three little tornadoes—transforming our tidy abode into a chaotic battlefield of towels, with just one person (yours truly) left to pick them up. And oh, the toys! Those tiny, pointy little monsters that ambush you in the dark, along with larger items that seem to leap into your path as you navigate our formerly cozy home. Stuffed animals and doll clothes gathered dust like they were in a museum exhibit, while crayons, stickers, and wads of construction paper cluttered every surface. Don’t even get me started on the bouncy balls that left marks on the ceiling and greasy handprints on the glass.
School added its own whirlwind of mess. Books, pencils, and papers exploded across the kitchen table, cardboard boxes became leprechaun traps, and closets were ransacked for costumes—Claude Monet, Rosa Parks, the Big Bad Wolf, and even Lady Gaga! Wet footprints adorned our hardwood floors after moving to a house with a pool, and the patio became a moldy graveyard for damp towels. Barbies and Nerf gun pellets were scattered like confetti, both inside and out.
And the laundry—oh, the laundry! Tae Kwon Do outfits, gymnastics leotards, and sports uniforms piled up weekly. Not to mention the shin guards that always needed washing! Pants and socks became canvases for grass stains and mud. Yogurt, chocolate, and ketchup found their way onto everything, and no amount of bleach could save us.
Then we relocated to a rainy city, where muddy shoes and soggy umbrellas became the norm. Homework multiplied, along with papers, books, calculators, and protractors. The bathroom counter became a beauty salon, cluttered with makeup, blow dryers, and flat irons, while hair spray turned the floor into a sticky mess. Dirty dishes began accumulating in bedrooms, and pizza boxes took over the basement. The air was thick with sweat and Axe Body Spray, and nail polish? Well, that was a permanent fixture on the carpet. Turf balls littered my kitchen floor, remnants of soccer cleats too damp for grass.
Meanwhile, other families seemed to have mastered the art of cleanliness. How do they do it? Sure, my kids and husband pitch in, but the relentless pace of life feels like a tsunami of chaos—work, school, emails, texts, homework, sports, birthday parties, and hospital visits. Most days, I’m just trying to stay afloat.
I despise the mess, but I know what’s coming. My oldest will be in high school next fall, while my youngest heads to eighth grade. I’m bracing myself for the wave of chaos from community service projects and the inevitable laundry mountain after class trips. Soon, SAT prep books and crumpled college applications will clutter my dining room.
Before I know it, I’ll be packing up boxes and clearing out empty rooms. One day, sooner than I think, I’ll awaken to a sparkling clean house, save for one lone towel on the floor. At least I can count on my husband to keep things feeling lived in, even after the clutter has vanished.
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In summary, while the mess can feel overwhelming, it’s all part of the journey of family life. One day, I’ll find my home tidy again, but for now, I embrace the beautiful chaos that comes with raising kids.