I just read another journaler's entry for today and it got me to thinkin' 'bout things.

My Mom was nuts about a clean house when I was growing up. If there was a jacket on the floor, the place was a pigsty. I remember one time when she came home from work an hour earlier than we expected. I'm sure we wore a look of total panic when she walked in. Dit and I were playing with our Barbies and we had quite literally taken over the entire living room with them. There were "scenes" set up under desk chairs, and tables. There were little clothes and shoes all over the place. I believe we had that living room cleaned in a record five minutes.

For a long while after Hubby and I began cohabiting, things around our house were orderly, laundry was done once a week, and I actually cleaned the house, from top to bottom, all at once, on a regular basis.

Shortly before the birth of Punkin, we (ok, I) considered hiring a cleaning person (domestic engineer?) to come in every couple of weeks to clean our house. I rationalized that, being a working mother, I had better things to spend my "at home" time on then cleaning. Unfortunately, that idea didn't quite pan out.

As Punkin has grown, I've relaxed A LOT about how clean the house is. These days I clean the areas of the house that bother me most at that moment. A few weeks ago, I spent the entire day cleaning the kitchen. I tackled every nook and cranny and only passed on cleaning the inside of the oven. Everything else was spotless. For 24 hours. I made plans to clean other areas tomorrow. If company was coming, there would be a concentrated effort on the spots that need attention the most.

I can usually hold that relaxed frame of mind for up to three weeks at a stretch. I've even been known to walk by our office area without flinching at the amount of paperwork strewn about every available surface. Then "that week" comes along and everything that didn't bother me yesterday is driving me crazy today and needs to get done RIGHT NOW and, naturally, I end up feeling inept and useless. I can't get anything done more than halfway. These are the days I'm sure I'm also a terrible mother. It sometimes takes me days to get over that feeling.

If you were to walk into our house right now you might notice the dirty throw rugs in the foyer before you wondered about the rather large vacuum cleaner box sitting there. As you walk up the stairs, if the light is right, the toddler-high smudges on the patio door might catch your eye. While making yourself at home in our kitchen you might notice a collection of crumbs under a certain chair at the kitchen table and probably some schmeared fingerprints on the counter.

Our house is not a pigsty. Our house no longer has a "show quality" clean. Our house is a home. Our family lives there. If it's a choice between having a clean house and having a full house, well, lemme just move aside this Elmo book while I sit down and think about that.

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