I’ll be honest, my house is not quite to that level, but it would only take a couple days of out-of-control-schedule to send it over the edge. My balancing act of school, kids, house, friends, writing, and more means I must have the precision of a tightrope walker, and her picture illustrates to me what will happen if I slip just a tiny bit.
Growing up, my mom was very organized, and while our house wasn’t spotless, it was always clean. There were times when things got harried, but she usually finished the dishes before we went to bed. I try to do the same. What is it about housekeeping that somehow tries to define who I am?
I don’t want to make the argument gender-based because I’m sure there are men out there who spend equal time on housework. Yet, I don’t think my husband feels the same weight of judgment if someone walks in and realizes we live like a tornado went through, and we haven’t started the clean up. He gets frustrated, but I don’t think he worries that he’s a bad father/spouse/person the way the thoughts creep into my head about myself. Is it just me? Do I need a good shrink? A drink?
I thought it was brave of Luna to show everyone the chaos I feel waiting to erupt and boil over the surface. But like Luna, it’s usually just a few days of craziness that threatens my status quo, and then—after a massive clean up—it’s slowly back to living in the circus again.
What does your kitchen look like right now? How does it make you feel?