A Messy Home Is, Well, Messy.

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.

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