Freedom of Finished Chores

I thought you all might like to know my house isn't a mess any more. It is a long way from a magazine cover, but the big messes are taken care of and I'm chipping away at the disasterous drawers and closets and dirt encrusted everything.

I found a sketch book I drew in a few years ago while cleaning and leafed through it. My children's younger eyes looked back at me, as I saw them with my own younger eyes. I had written on each sketch things like "Eyes too close together" "Nose too long" "looks human but not a good likeness", as if had I not written it there, someone might think I thought these pieces were good enough! It made me sick. The drawings were beautiful, and while not professional quality, were a welcome gift across time, a witness to the emotional connection between me and my little ones.

So, I'm trying to see my home through the eyes that should have seen those drawings. It is *home* above all, and not a show case of perfection. This is where we laugh, cry, eat, welcome friends, hash out life with family, and live. May I not lose the pleasure of resting in *home* while worrying about missing trim and too much dust.

PS--my husband still isn't happy, but it isn't about the house now, he's moved on to hating his job and worrying about the collapse of the US economy.

Order in the House

I just read a book called "Get Your Act Together" by Pam Young and her sister. They are a couple of reformed slobs, who share their system and encouragement with recovered slob wannabes.

Remarkably, reading the book has not distracted me from my household duties too much. We have gotten most of the house pretty straightened up this last week and a half. The plan is to get rid of as much junk as I can, and actually *do* the hour of housework that is written in my schedule every afternoon. It appears that I (or something) have finally convinced my hubby that it is habits that will save us, and now he is nagging me to change my habits instead of cleaning like a maniac for a day or two to fix it all at once. I don't know who this person is that has so changed his tune, but what he is speaking is indeed the only way to lasting peace.

I've hauled at least ten boxes away to goodwill, and many trash sacks to the garbage. I gave away things at mini school today. There is more to go in every room of the house. The SLOB sisters say that most houses need to get rid of 90% of their junk to be manageable! Yikes, that seems like a lot! But, wow, it would be like a dream to have that much less to take care of.

So, now I'm accountable to all of you. I am getting rid of junk, defending clean space, and doing my hour each day! If any of you in Africa, Europe or Asia want to encourage me to keep on this, feel free! (I can't imagine why anyone so far off would care what I have to say!)

Just Clean the House

My husband is mad at me (again) because of the house. He has reasonable expectations, just wants it all clean once a month. I got it done last Christmas and it hasn't been all done since. This is a chronic ongoing issue for us. I am extremely distractable and I move slow, which means that my work time is not very productive, but all seven of us are very productive at taking things out!

I don't know why I don't keep a nice house. Lots of possible reasons--having mess means that I have a reason to get up in the morning (to clean it), leaving a bit of mess is a request for someone to step in and help me because I want to be rescued. Rebellion: I shouldn't have to perform to earn your approval, you should just love me because I'm me. Perfectionism: it isn't going to be perfect anyway, so why try? Distractable: I forgot I was cleaning the whatever. Mess filter: I don't see the mess, just whatever particular article that has drawn my focus. (I can't tell if my outfits look good either, because all I see is an earring, my hair, my make-up, my shoes one at a time.) There are various amounts of truth to each of those, but at this point in life, I just don't even care about the reasons. I don't see that understanding these reasons has gotten me any closer to a clean house.

They tell me that I'm "performance oriented." I think that is psychobabble for "legalistic." I want to prove that I'm something by my own actions. Unfortunately, all I've proved is that I'm nothing. And this, for some reason, is worse than the end of the world to me. I mean, duh! Of course I'm nothing! Isn't that why the grace of God is so miraculous?

The most productive season of my life (in terms of managing our home) came at a time when things were externally difficult. I was pregnant with number 4. God came to me in the middle of a movie. The image on the screen was just a man hugging a woman (a friend.) And God, in that moment, just revealed his love to me. I went an laid on the floor for I don't know how long. He satisfied my longing to be both the center and to be hidden. He convinced me in a moment that I was to Him, the Bride. The golden one. He revealed me as the adored daughter, swinging in her Father's arms. And he hid me in the folds of his robes, so close that I could twine my fingers in his beard and breathe his scent. I was protected and covered.

From that center of acceptance, running my race was so easy. All those reasons just fell by as irrelevant. For months, I could just do it, walking in peace. But then, my mom came and helped me out when my son was born, and something in that season washed it all away.

But the truth is still there. I wish I could find it again. My husband's anger and my desire to please, and my offense at his coldness trip me up in embracing truth. Yet there is always a way around temptation. Faith is always possible.

Lessons in Housekeeping

Six weeks ago when the weather was still balmy, I was snuggling my 4yo off to sleep. Her six year old brother was wandering around the room getting ready to be snuggled too. He picked something up off the floor and asked me what it was, handing it to me. I didn't really know, but when someone hands you something vaguely furry next to your face in the dark, you throw it--far and fast. And turn the light on. What was it? A bat. We have cats, and they drag things in. And this kitty gift was a tiny fruit bat that had breathed its last.

Well, we homeschool, and we were currently doing a unit on flying things. After looking at the little bat briefly (since it was bedtime), I promised the kids we would study bats "tomorrow" and sealed the bat in a ziploc baggie and put it in the fridge to preserve it until then.

You know where this is going, don't you? Well, tomorrow never came. And this morning, while cleaning out my fridge, I got a lovely lesson in "Do it Now." If you ever wondered what a bat that died six weeks ago looks like, let me tell you, you don't want to know. Ziploc baggies and refrigeration only go so far in preserving small mammals. Another lesson: never wait so long to clean your fridge that a bat could rot in there. Someone should put that on one of those helpful plaques.