Life's A Mess
Ask anyone who has been to my home and they will tell you that
housekeeping is not my strong point. The walls are a testament to
my children's personalities; multicolored and gritty with childish
concoctions. Dust particles stick to jelly hand prints and magic
marker decorates the electrical outlet by the toy box, put there
by my 2 year old budding artist.
We dress out of the dryer and on a good day, the clothes are actually
clean. Clothes are strewn on every imaginable surface to make room
for the quickly washed load of underwear.
My refrigerator is a planet unto itself. With my cooking, leftovers
are questionable when fresh. When found under the empty butter container
six months later, I'm convinced I am the creator of a new species.
I'm kind of proud of the life I have spawned with Hamburger Helper.
The bathroom, well let's just say that I'm not into Formula 409
and when I do approach the toilet it's with welding gloves, bleach
and a gas mask.
I used to keep an immaculate house. Everything had to be in it's
place. If there was anything out of place, I knew immediately. That
was before kids.
The beginning of the end was when the kids got old enough to rearrange
the furniture in their bedrooms without telling me, leaving me to
discover the difference by breaking a toe on the dresser placed in
the exact middle of the room. I was too inexperienced to know that
entering a dark bedroom to check on them would endanger my life because
the dresser was needed to support the fort they had built with old
car tires, silly putty and the broom.
Now my house looks like life is; messy. Nothing is simple anymore.
It seems like the older I get, the more chaotic and confusing living
is. Sometimes there is no right way to do something, you are going
to get hurt regardless. I hate not being in total control of my surroundings,
my thoughts and emotions. I detest things that cannot be stacked
neatly in it's place, things that can no longer be hidden in the
recesses of my subconscious forever. My home is cluttered with belongings,
junk and memories. Guess it only makes sense that the same disarray
can be compared to the world outside my door. Before I realized and
appreciated what was really important to me, I thought keeping my
home spotless was a show of my control. Instead it was the only way
I could deal with the emotions I had no where to put. Thoughts and
feelings haunted me, and I stuffed them away by cleaning frantically,
my mind blank as I put everything in it's place.
Eventually, I realized that while my floor was clean enough to
eat off, it was getting harder to keep it that way. As the clutter
took over my safe haven, I had to start feeling things that were
painful and confusing. Even my home wasn't safe anymore, there was
dirt everywhere! I went through a few years that I seemed like I
was endlessly falling, angry at the world, bitter and adamant in
my refusal to concede in any way. I was miserable.
I look back at that period in my life and I shudder. And I rejoice.
Because every glimpse back reminds me of how fulfilling and healthy
my life has become. Finally. With the wisdom that came with maturity
and acceptance of the things I couldn't change, I have blossomed
into, I hope, a good Mother, a decent person.
As I look around my home, I see dishes waiting to be washed, the
baby eating a Cheerio she had found under the couch, my 2 year old
jumping on the couch cushions that she has thrown on the floor. Well,
what can I say? Life is like my house. Clean up what you can, step
around the rest.
About the Author: Vicki Gladden is the mother of five children
living in Mississippi, where the bugs are plentiful and bigger than
her 2 year old's head. She has been writing for years and writes
a column for the local newspaper, as well as various sites on the
web. She writes whatever comes to mind so you never know what you
are going to find. She welcomes all comments concerning her site
or her work and invites you to see her new passion Simply
Southern Candles
Vicki Gladden 2000 © Mississippi Press
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