They say if you can’t beat ’em, join ’em. Or — in my case — if you can no longer enter an entire room in your house, clean it the eff up.
I was trying to get to the washing machine late last night with (yet another) set of vomit-soiled sheets when I stubbed my toe on a box of summer hats. And because I am brimful of zen-like patience and serenity, I tried to kick the box across the room but it was wedged between a hockey bag AND a t-ball tee, so I just wound up stubbing my toe again.
Note, dear friends and readers, that this is NOT EVEN the room I cannot enter. Our washer and dryer are in a dilapidated back mud room/addition which serves as a drop-off area for everything that enters the house. So it’s going to get cluttered pretty much every day. Of course, it doesn’t help that last week it was snowing and this week was over 20°C and sunny and we are both winding down the hockey season and gearing up for baseball so I have snow pants, boots, mitts, toques, baseball caps, sunglasses, hockey bags, baseball bats, cleats, and skates for a family of five jammed into a drafty ten by ten foot room.
No, the straw that broke this camel’s back was what happened when I decided to move some winter coats down to a basement closet. I couldn’t reach the closet; I couldn’t even enter the room that contains the closet. There were piles of toys upon Legos upon stray craft supplies and missing board game pieces. There were sports cards and Barbie shoes and ground in PlayDoh bits. Beyond that, Christmas wrapping paper had been unraveled and left in a heap upon the floor. Sleeping bags were unrolled and a coffee table was literally overturned.
The truth is while I’ve avoided this room for months, the children have clearly been having a field day. I’m sure this all reflects poorly on me. What kind of a parent lets their children destroy the house like that? Don’t I know it’s my responsibility to teach them to pick up after themselves? There needs to be consequences! I know, I know.
All I can say in my defense is that you should see my kids play. When I say enough with the screens, go entertain yourselves, they launch into complex narrative webs that span all three floors of the house and involve countless toys and props. They drag things out and really, really play with them. They write plays and then act them out. They create endless piles of crafts and collect bits and pieces of little treasures. So at the end of the day, when it’s time for bed, or when we’re trying to make it to some practice or another, it’s really an overwhelming mess — for anyone, let alone kids.
While they’re creating these messes, I’m probably scrambling to finish some work, cooking a meal from scratch, cleaning the kitchen, overseeing homework, folding laundry, or some combination of those things. I’m not entirely negligent, is my point. And it has gotten better. This is a room in the basement and not the entire main floor. You should have seen the place when I worked from home with three kids who didn’t go to school all day.
Of course, all the excuses and explanations in the world still don’t help me get to that closet so I can put the bloody winter gear away, do they? And, no, it’s not just that room in the basement. My office is a disaster. All the closets are disorganized heaps. God even knows what’s under the beds.
So, I started in on the basement room yesterday. I knelt down in the doorway with a plastic garbage bag and sorted through the debris until I could at least enter the room. I had to stop, though, in order to cook dinner, feed people, clean up after dinner, bathe a child, fold some laundry, and then (surprise!) deal with a puke-y kindergartner. So I still can’t get to that closet.
But I’ve got a solution. All I have to do is get really, really into housekeeping. Like, maybe it’s not the time-consuming chore that is keeping me from actually living my life like I’ve always thought. Maybe it’s really the satisfying and enriching practice of providing a clean and orderly home for yourself and your loved ones. Hey, it’s possible!
So instead of gritting my teeth, rolling up my sleeves, and tackling messes only when absolutely necessary, I will embrace a varied and interesting housekeeping routine. I will look forward to the day’s task. I will trade in my evening tv shows for another pass on the bathroom floor. I will smile, my heart filled with love, as I collect my beloved children’s socks from beneath the couch. I will live a life of writing and cooking and cleaning, rinse and repeat as necessary.
There will be no greater joy than organizing my linen closet. If I say it enough, it will be true.
Shh …
And, well, if that doesn’t work out, there’s always rage yoga.