by Carolyn Robertson
A friend of mine whose kids are just about grown recently passed down to me a memento of motherhood that she’d had for years. It’s a magnet that is now proudly attached to my own fingerprint-smeared fridge that reads, in black and neon pink: “Good mothers have sticky floors, filthy ovens and happy kids.” Here’s hoping.
Reading Kristina Sauerwein’s post on dirty houses last week I was glad to learn that I’m not the only one with a home that doesn’t quite sparkle. Things here tend to be smudgy and cluttered and no matter how often I vacuum there are still clumps of dog hair that roll across the floor like tiny tumbleweed. A toy storage center in bright primary colors stretches across one wall of the living room. The liquor cabinet is now home (well, in part) to craft supplies, there’s a preschool-sized table and chair set next to the couch and the floor is usually strewn with dropped teether toys and an ambitious Thomas the Train track. Add the usual baby paraphernalia – swing, bouncy chair, Jumperoo – and there’s not much room to move around here.
But you know what? I’ve stopped worrying about it. I’m not saying we live in filth – I wipe away, sop up and tidy as best I can. But after too much time and frustration spent trying to keep on top of it all I had an epiphany of sorts. There will be plenty of time down the road for spotless floors and a gleaming bath tub. Hell, it’ll be something to keep me busy as I wait for my teenage daughters to come home from their first dates. But right now is the time for toys, for clutter, for watercolor paint splattered on the side table and greasy little fingerprints on the faucets.
My house may not make the pages of any magazine, but I’m okay with that. It’s lived in. More specifically, it’s lived in by kids.
Read original article here at Momformation blog
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