Coming clean…

clean houseBeing a mom has put a spotlight on all of my inadequacies – though one glaringly stands out. That is, the fact that I am far from a domestic goddess. Now that I’m playing house for real, it’s clear that I’m not all that good at it.  And it makes me wonder: in school, why did I stress about Statistics and want to explode at the thought of Chemistry? What a waste. What I really needed to concentrate on was Cooking and Cleaning 101.  I needed to trade in the lab coat for a housecoat. Even Home Economics didn’t help me. We sewed a heart pillow. Not exactly solid training ground for keeping a house in order.

I’m sad to admit that my laundry overwhelms me, clutter keeps creeping up, and no, you cannot eat off my floors.  And how I handle my laundry is another little dirty secret.  It piles up in the hallway (while the kids are sleeping) and makes a home there for way too long, as my beloved family climbs over the heaps.  And the piles mock me every time I pass by, as if to say: “You are a sorry excuse for a mother! In other countries, women have to wash their clothes by hand over a stream while carrying a baby on their back and a basket of fruit on their head.  You sicken me.” Laundry is indeed a bitch.

 The truth is, I want a model-looking home. I yearn for it to look as sparkling as the home of a BRAVO Housewife.  I mean they have backstabbing, brawling, and bankruptcy to deal with, yet still manage to expose their homes with dignity. On the other hand, my life is much less complicated – yet someone comes over unannounced and I want to die. Whether it’s a pile of crap at the bottom of the stairs or a trail of crumbs my toddler just left in his wake – it’s not the picture I want to reveal. It’s not what was in my head when I dreamt of getting married, having kids, and owning a house.  And it makes me feel lousy.

Do you feel the need to come clean?

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