There is toothpaste on the floor. Again. There are Barbies sunbathing on the dining room table and horses lined up on the window sill in full promenade. There is a laundry basket in nearly every room of the house. Some clean clothes, some dirty, some folded, most not.
The house smells like feet.
I know it is virtually inexcusable. I am a stay-at-home mom. Cleaning house is certainly in my job description. But I only seem capable of squalor. I think part of the problem is that the mess doesn’t bother me enough.
I love that Lizzie built a ‘hotel’ in the living room, removing every cushion from the couch and every pillow from our beds. I love that Katie sewed her sister a dress out of three old shirts, even if all the fabric remnants are still on the floor. I love that Henry plays with puzzles now, even though he has chosen to unsolve all of them on the entryway rug.
It’s not total dishevelment. We have a few boundaries. Their rooms need to be picked up before computer time. Their clothes should be put away before church. We don’t have bedbugs (anymore) or head lice (yet). Most of the mice are living outside again. And we sent our chickens to live with friends. But I’m still not sure I’ve ever visited anyone whose house is as chaotic as ours.