This is my house – on a good day:
It’s a cluttered mess. I admit that. Like most women I struggle with an invisible standard to which we feel we must all adhere. My mother was always an excellent housekeeper and I do enjoy a tidy home. However, you add three kids and a husband who isn’t fond of putting things away and a mother with a part-time job and a desire to sleep once in awhile and this is what you get:
I’m not proud of it. I am resigned to it.
Recently, David and I were leaving Home Depot with Harper in tow. She was jabbering away and being adorable and the cashier, a woman well into her seventies, casually said “that is the most precious gift you will ever receive”.
My house is a mess. It is cluttered. I don’t have time to organize the coat closet, or even change the sheets on the bed. But this is the thing, I only have eighteen years with my kids but I have the rest of my life to clean the coat closet.