So in my house, I like to think of myself as the organized one. As a child, I used to rearrange my room almost monthly because I loved a different “look” and also enjoying moving out the old stuff and decluttering. I know, I should have had more friends. But I was an only child and my thing was “order.” Now at the ripe old age of twenty-eight, I’m still the organized one in my house, but living with a husband, a thirteen-month-old, and two cat—things can get out of control very quickly!
I used to stress because it seemed like everything I tried to do—even something as simple as loading the dishwasher or cleaning up the breakfast dishes—could take an hour because of the interruptions that consume my life. I plead with Brendan as I put him in the living room (gated) to just give me two minutes to put the milk away before it spoils, and sometimes I can sneak away for five minutes or so while I rush over to the next room to clean up the dining room. But once he realizes that I’m not hanging out, he has a lot to say and he’s not happy. The furballs, Kramer and Sonny, are running around, constantly underfoot while I try not to break my neck as Brendan is screaming.
Usually I just do everything in fast forward mode. Sure the dishes might not get as clean, I might not wipe every crumb off the counter, but once I have Brendan in my arms patting my face or dangling my hair around his chubby little fingers, none of it matters. One day before I even realize it, I’m sure he’ll be spending so much of his time with his friends and activities that I’ll long for more of his time. For me, having him helped put things into perspective—the pureness of his laugh, love, and smile makes things gleam more than a clean house ever would.
