As a mother, there are countless roles you naturally step into. You comfort your children through their tears, prepare their meals, share beloved stories, and clean up after them. You find yourself wiping down surfaces, picking up toys, and organizing everything in sight. You are the designated cleaner, the one who sorts through the mail and the laundry, managing the household’s chaos because, well, it’s your responsibility, and if you don’t do it, who will?
But one day, I took a step back and thought, “Enough is enough.” Instead of striving for a spotless home, I embraced the reality of having three children. Three joyful kids who don’t need a mom trailing them with a constant barrage of “Who’s going to pick that up?” because the answer was always “You,” which led to a cycle of threats, tears, and stress. So I made a conscious choice to ease up on cleaning.
Let me clarify—I still clean, but I’ve prioritized what matters most. I joined the ranks of wise mothers who understand that it’s perfectly fine to clean only the essentials and let the rest slide.
Initially, this shift required me to adopt a Zen-like mindset regarding my home’s state. We’ve all been influenced by the image of the perfect housewife from the ’50s, the one who manages to vacuum in heels with flawless makeup. I had to banish that unrealistic standard from my thoughts. I repeated to myself, “It’s okay if my home isn’t pristine.” I had children, which naturally brings messes. I had a life, and that meant I didn’t need to fuss over guest towels.
I faced a choice: allow my kids to keep their cherished toys, which often led to clutter, or limit their belongings to maintain a tidy space. Take the stuffed animals, for example. They’re often overlooked, lying around my son’s room, mostly used for fort-building. Sure, I could enforce some semblance of order by having them neatly arranged, but they’d just be scattered again in no time. So, I let them be—drifting across the room, piled against furniture, a part of our lived-in space.
And if you happen to visit, you might glance around and wonder, “Who lives here with laundry piled everywhere?” because, yes, I do manage to wash it, dry it, and then let it sit in baskets around the house, including the kitchen. Sometimes, I even sort it into further baskets, placing them near dressers. Everyone has clean clothes, but they seldom make it into drawers, and I won’t apologize for that.
You’ll find bath toys left in the tub, dishes in the sink until I run out of clean utensils and turn to plastic. I’ve accepted that scrubbing crayon marks from the walls is a battle I won’t win. I’ll only dust when my mom comes over—if you want to judge my dusting skills, you likely have fewer kids or more time (or perhaps a maid).
I’ve decided to let the mail pile up on the kitchen table until it absolutely needs attention, much like the stuffed animals. I’ve surrendered to the fact that keeping a spotless home is draining—it consumes my time, energy, and joy. Some aspects of my life will be messy: books on the floor, shoes in heaps, dishes in the sink. You are more than welcome to visit and judge if you wish, but let me assure you, everything is clean enough to be safe, and our home works for us. My house may be a mess, but I refuse to feel ashamed. So come over and relax.
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In summary, embracing the chaos of motherhood means letting go of the unrealistic standards of a perfectly clean home. By prioritizing what truly matters, we can find joy in the mess and create a nurturing environment for our children.