If I give it a fancy, French-sounding name, that makes it better… right?
Recently, when the weather was crisp and cool and sunny outside, I excitedly flew up my blinds and opened all the windows in the house to let in the fresh air. It was glorious, except for one tiny thing. The more light was let in, the more I could see how messy my house was.
It’s practically impossible to keep my house *really* clean, especially up to my usual standards, and especially now that I am single-mom-ing-it-up. I’ve got two gorgeous girls who love to run and play. This kicks up dust. This spills milk. This makes Cheerios multiply like they’ve figured out how to clone themselves beneath my couch. This leaves toys in places away from where they “live”, and it has been known to drive me bonkers.
But I choose to look at it this way:
– I can’t do everything perfectly and even thinking about attempting to drives me into a fit of anxiety… and I don’t need that in my life.
– I have to prioritise. Making sure that my kids (and, I guess, me too) are happy, healthy, productive and (somewhat) clean is what matters. Putting people before things has to be my focus otherwise I feel like I’m drowning in stuff… and I don’t need that in my life.
– Sure, I could be a bit more proactive about putting things back in their place. But when I have prioritised something else ahead of that, the least I can do is look at the mess around me and bask in its happy glow. The Halloween costumes (that my girls looked so darn adorable in while politely and energetically trick or treating) are on the floor. The piles of papers (of amazingly creative writing done by my ever-intriguing students) need to be filed. The clean dishes (from that new-job celebratory meal for a friend of mine) are still on the counter.
It’s still a mess. I should still take care of it. And I will. In the meantime, I am choosing not to let it get me down.