One day, quite a number of years ago, my dear friend Julie opened my eyes to a truth which I had lived out for forever but never plainly understood.
Chaos drains my energy.
Cluttered rooms, fingerprint-covered windows, piles of dirty laundry, Legos strewn across the floor, a sink filled with dirty dishes, sticky messes, crushed Cheerios underfoot…
they unravel me and cause me great unhappiness.
I know what you’re thinking…
But you have seven children?!
I’m well aware.
And this is wherein lies the struggle.
Ladies, if you’re one of those women who can actually function…no flourish, in the midst of chaos, well then I dislike you A LOT.
I envy you more than you can possibly know.
I want to be you.
I want to be okay with clutter, paint, disorganization, and mess.
I want to be comfortable with marinara-covered faces and stain-splattered shirts.
I want to happily embrace my 4-year-old hiding in a cloud of white, as she generously dusts pizza dough with flour.
I want to find joy in the mess.
I want to choose my children over my house.
I want to surrender my need for neat.
If their is a woman I truly admire…it’s the one who can happily dance in the midst of complete and total chaos.
Because, well…I’m simply not there.
I know I have issues.
I know God isn’t pleased with my neat-nick tendencies.
I know He wants me to put my precious blessings and my husband first.
I understand my OCD could quite simply ruin them, squashing their creativity and discouraging exploration.
I’m aware that I’m teaching them orderliness comes before loving others.
I realize I have the potential to crush little spirits and dreams with one big mama meltdown.
I strive to surrender. Really I do.
But the flesh is so skilled at rearing its ugly head.
When I tell you that nobody is better at wallowing in self-pity when her house is constantly in shambles than me, you need to believe me. It’s true.
Because disorganization overwhelms me, making it difficult for me to think straight.
I shutdown.
My energy is sapped.
I’m defeated.
I’m discouraged.
I don’t know where to begin.
I can’t have a coherent thought.
I want to go to bed.
I seek out the closest chocolate source….and indulge.
So picture me now…sitting at the kitchen table for hours.
Teaching reading.
Teaching math.
Science experiments.
Art projects.
Lunch.
Day after day, the world around me coming completely undone.
Do you wonder how I survive?
I survive,
because I know come Friday,
all will be reconciled and restored to order.
Friday is ‘Bless This House Day”.
It should really be called ‘Bless This Momma Day’.
It’s like my reward for allowing entropy to take over throughout our homeschool week.
It’s that thing I cling to that washes away mounting anxiety.
Friday mornings I make cleaning assignments, then once we’ve eaten breakfast and wrapped up all schoolwork for the week, we get started on our jobs.
The four oldest clean bathrooms, vacuum, dust, and strip ‘n remake beds.
I am quite proud to say that their skills have improved immensely since we began doing this 3 years ago.
The three youngest help put things away and are often ‘cleaners in training’.
When they are no longer providing any value, we often let them watch a video.
This kid is sad because I gave him an empty Windex container…
I am so cruel.
But if left to his own devices, he’d be spraying Windex all over his body like a proud Greek.
It takes us about 2 1/2- 3 hours to clean the house from top to bottom now that I no longer have a nursing baby.
(That makes me sad by the way, that my baby is two. )
We strip beds every other week and do half of the beds each week.
We listen to music and audio books while we clean depending on our preferences.
Oh how I love a clean, uncluttered house.
It lifts my spirits.
It recharges me.
It makes me undeniably happy.
I’ve always adored Fridays.
They’ve always been my most favorite day of the week.
And having a clean house, is some serious icing on the cake.
I needed this today as I too hate the chaos but I am learning, very slowly, that the mess is a blessing. Without the blessed mess I would not have these sweet children to teach and love and snuggle. It is hard, some days are filled with twitching and walking into a room only to leave immediately so as not to explode about the mess. I know though, in eighteen years or so, if Jesus hasn’t come to take us Home, I will miss the mess dreadfully, wishing I still had my babies to teach and love and snuggle. And I know, sweet friend, you feel the same way!
Very good article. I certainly love this website. Keep writing!