By Joy Adams
A few months ago, I had a sinus infection. Both boys had high fevers. And my husband, was also home sick with the flu. In the midst of this perfect storm of sickness, I headed up the stairs for a much required nap and suddenly I became aware that I had a pain in my side that was not normally there. I lay in bed and the pain in my side continued. I thought to myself, is this how an appendicitis starts? At this thought my immediate prayer was “God, please no! My house is too messy!”
I googled “what side hurts for appendicitis?” Quickly, I ruled out the possibility of having an appendicitis. Relived, I realized that my pain was most likely a strained muscle from carrying my feverish four year old everywhere. In his ongoing state of fevers, he had desired more cuddles, more holding, and more carrying then normal. I concluded that my muscles along with my body were just done in and what I really needed was sleep. I slept, but even in my sleep, I was troubled by my initial response to the possibility of having an appendicitis. “My house is too messy?” Really? Is my house really that bad? Am I that vain? Worse yet, am I both an out of control slob and too proud to be transparent about it?
In the aftermath of the Christmas rush, my entire family was sick. Of course our house was going to be messy. Toys cluttered our floor as clean laundry cluttered our couch (at least it was clean laundry, right?). Our counters were filled with everything: mail, Spanish flashcards, Legos, tape, string, crayons, magazines, dishes (both clean and dirty), and pantry items. In the rush before Christmas, I had let things pile up. End of year school performance, special Christmas family traditions, and a family member hospitalized, all these things were prioritized over decluttering. All these things should be prioritized over decluttering.
Here I was, sick, no energy and I was realizing that I had let my house get too much out of control. Yes, my family will always come first, but when my clutter has me more concerned about the condition of my house rather than whether I have a serious medical condition, I might have a problem.
I am not a hoarder, in the sense that I would in no way qualify to be on that show, but I do often create too much of an emotional attachment to items. Old dishes, once owned and used by my grandmother occupy valuable shelving space. I have only used these dishes twice, I need that space for my plastic lunch containers used daily, but I hesitate to get rid of items, especially when the item was once owned by someone who is no longer living.
I get confused when it comes to paperwork. What things do I need to file? What do I shred? What do I toss? Some days I feel like I am drowning in paperwork. I set things aside thinking that I will know what to do with them tomorrow, but by tomorrow those items just get buried under the new items and the task of sorting becomes even more daunting.
I have a circle of mommy friends who give me hand me down clothes for my boys, but sometimes, I end up with far more than I need. I end up with bags full of clothes that need to be sorted by size and season. I end up with too many clothes for the boys which allows me the flexibility to go too long between laundry days. In my procrastination, what starts out as a simple pile of laundry soon becomes my Mount Everest and my simple attempts to do a few loads and get it back under control seem futile as my attempts do not even appear to make a dent in my daily growing pile.
At the end of the day, the kids are lovingly tucked into bed. They have been loved, fed, clothed, loved, played with, educated, loved, disciplined, and loved some more. It has been a good day, but, when it comes to my to-do/chore list, I did not complete anything. Often, I go to bed exhausted and feeling a bit defeated. Will all the laundry ever be done? Will all the dishes ever get washed and put away at the same time?
I find humor and comfort in the writings of some mom bloggers who seem to fully embrace the messy life of mommyhood. Their stories of the messiness of real life make me smile, but sometimes it seems as though they have embraced the chaos a little too much for my taste. Yes, I have kids, but I still want to have friends and family over and I want them to have a clean and comfortable place to sit. I don’t mind the boys leaving some Legos out, but I don’t want to be stepping over them every time I walk from the living room to the kitchen.
In the mommy life it seems as though there is always a pendulum swinging. At one end is a spotless house, everything in its place and on the other end is a house in which everything is icky and sticky, with nothing where it goes. For me, neither extreme feels like home. The first requires a perfection that is beyond my personality and robs my family of opportunities for impromptu fun. The other end of the spectrum is so dysfunctional that it robs my family of peace and the structure that I crave. I am most at home somewhere in the middle, but this is so hard to achieve.
Being in the middle, nothing is ever perfect, but neither is it sterile. The middle allows the kids to have glue and playdough at the dining room table with the intention that it won’t still be there three days later. The middle is likely to have clean sheets on unmade beds. The middle might have family dinners that mostly come from a box with sides of broccoli and/or blueberries as their redeeming feature. The middle has me turning in for the night with the dishwasher running but with the larger items left “soaking” (whether they need it or not). The middle allows me the freedom to not finish a task so that I can play trains and Batman with my boys. The middle allows me the ability to leave things undone, so that I can get a good night sleep and be fresh and rested in the morning for myself and my family. The middle is a place that I am happy and my family is happy.
The problem lies in what happens when home base is the middle and suddenly there is a family crisis, sickness, or even just an overly busy few weeks. Suddenly things spiral out of control and I find myself not in the middle (my happy place) but in the land of dysfunction, the land of chaos.
In her book, Sink Reflections, Marla Cilley, also known as The Fly Lady, created an acronym for CHAOS – Can’t Have Anyone Over Syndrome. When things get out of hand, this is exactly how I feel. I am embarrassed, and the last thing I want is for someone to see the depths of my dysfunction. It is in these times that something deep within me cries out and sick or not, overwhelmed or not, beyond exhaustion or not, “I have to get back to my happy place!”
My appendicitis scare, or rather my reaction to it, was my wakeup call. In the last few months I have donated dishes that I rarely used, yes, including some of the ones that used to belong to my grandmother. I have gone through and sorted piles of clothes, donating many of them. I have begun going through piles of papers. And I have hired a housecleaner to come twice a month to help me with general maintenance, like mopping the floors (my least favorite job). My house is still far from perfect, but I am getting closer to that middle place that feels like home.
The more I continue to grow and develop as a person the more I realize just how undone I am. You will not find perfection in my house, my appearance, my anything but while I do not seek perfection, I do desire a life and home of integrity, safety and warmth. I find great encouragement in this passage:
Not that I have already obtained all this, or have already arrived at my goal, but I press on to take hold of that for which Christ Jesus took hold of me. Brothers and sisters, I do not consider myself yet to have taken hold of it. But one thing I do: Forgetting what is behind and straining towards what is ahead, I press on toward the goal to win the prize for which God has called me heavenward in Christ Jesus.
Philippians 3:12-14 NIV
My house will never be perfect. But I can press on to improve my efficiency, my organization, and my ability to let go of sentimental items I truly don’t need. I can let go of clutter. I do this not to achieve perfect rooms, styled for a magazine cover, but to create the environment for perfect moments. Perfect moments like my family around the dinner table laughing to the point of tears because my youngest is making up knock, knock jokes and his laughter is so contagious. Perfect moments like playing hide and seek with my boys and my oldest counting all the way to 120 for the first time without mistakes. (This is a first grade standard he has been working on all school year.) Perfect moments like watching my husband and boys all cuddled on the couch playing video games (something they have a shared love for).
These perfect moments were ushered in by a table that was cleared off, rooms in which hiding spots were easily and safely accessible, and couches that were absent of laundry piles. As I have struggled the past few months, to reclaim my house from CHAOS, I have been on a personal journey of discovery. I am learning and I am growing. My home is still far from immaculate, but in this process I am learning new levels of transparency. I will not celebrate my home dysfunctions, but I will celebrate my journey and the joy that is ever before me in the endless possibilities for perfect moments in an imperfect home.
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