It's one of those “aaarrggh” nights. And it's not because I am frustrated, nor because any of the three kids are. I am frustrated because my husband is. Of course his frustration becomes mine. An elusive problem seems to lurk under the carpet in our house. Or should I say an elusive solution to a problem that goes away for a short while only to come back again and again.
The problem is, our house is always messy. I'm not talking a few things out of place. I'm talking embarrassing-messy. I scan my eyes over the family room this evening and I come upon the following things that don't belong: a backpack complete with solar-powered panels to charge just about anything, a bag of clothes too small for their owner, two exercise balls, a box of recycle items, my daughter's boyfriend's sleeping bag, school bags, and all the remnants of my son's "Wilson Cloud Chamber" science project, less the dry ice.
I don't view myself as particularly unorganized. If a person can be a legend in his own mind, then I guess you could say that I am extremely organized -- in my own mind. I don't completely understand why my house is so utterly messy. Nor do I completely understand how the houses of my friends are so immaculate. Is it that their kids really do pick up after themselves all the time? Is that where the breakdown occurred in my house? Did I raise total slobs. If so, how do I now undo fifteen years of bad habits.
Perhaps, the mess just does not bother me enough. But it surely bothers my husband, who is in a bit of rage over it this evening. Diffuse, diffuse, scurry, scurry, clean, clean. But then, over time, the house of cards get weighted down, and the kids and I start to fall, as does the dirt, and the lint, and the eraser bits and tiny candies. Aaarrggh. If I could just declutter the entire house; if I could just spend six months focusing on the problem, if I could just purge until the family room had but two couches, a tv, and a remote. How do I get from here to there?
We are presently building a cottage. My husband said this evening, “Let's sell the cottage. If we can't handle one house, how will we ever handle two.” Strangely, when I envision the new cottage, it is immaculate.
Diffuse, diffuse, scurry, scurry. Keep the peace until the next blow-up. Aarrghh.
