(Geez, I even clean it before the housecleaner comes. Isn't there something deeply WRONG with that? LOL!)
In all honesty, I still struggle with my pride and the reality we live day-to-day.
It isn't really a money thing, although money would obviously help the situation.
I didn't grow up in a family with much money, but somehow my mother always kept our house looking clean and well-maintained. It was a beautiful home to grow up in, and I always felt confident and comfortable inviting people over for playdates or slumber parties.
Even as an adult, when I lived in a string of apartments with roommates and then on my own, I was never ashamed to have people over. My furniture and flooring may have been second hand, but everything was always polished, scrubbed or vacuumed... with lots of cheerful colors and flowers to make up for whatever elegance may have been lacking.
I framed posters to hang on my walls instead of having "real" art to look at, decorating more with plants and music than anything else... but I made every place I lived in into a home and felt proud and contented with them all.
When my husband purchased our first house in 2004 it wasn't much to look at but we felt so excited about it! Delighted to have our friends over for dinner and parties, excited about the many household projects ahead. We made the most of our space and our dreams, and it was great.
So this terrible self-consciousness, this angst over dirt and disarray, this is really and truly a child-induced phenomenon.
It has come on slowly over the course of six years, building to a crescendo that hasn't really peaked yet. I just can't seem to stop my children from destroying every home we live in now. Recent landlords have not been thrilled about our family, a huge blow to my pride as I'd always been considered an ideal tenant in the past.
Worse, I can totally understand why they feel that way! These children truly are more destructive than pets. I'm not even joking.
They:
-Pee on floors and rugs
-Draw with all manner of markers, ballpoint pens, crayons, chalk and paint on freshly cleaned white walls
-Peel paint off of cabinets and built-ins with their fingernails
-Punch screens right off the windows
-Clog the toilets and drains with their small toys and entire bags of baby wipes
-Leave the hose on next to the house, drenching its foundation
-Make permanent dents and scratches in the wood floors
-Bend venetian blinds into permanently altered shapes
-Forget about random crusts of bread and pieces of fruit they've hidden furtively... until we discover them by scent or accident months later
...and the list goes on.
It may sound like I am exaggerating here, but let me just say that our last landlord took $2000 from our security deposit for damage repair.
That's not chump change.
When we moved into this wonderful house nearly six months ago, it was older and in run-down condition but still freshly painted and pretty decent looking. I loved it instantly, not least because I felt like we could be comfortable here and not stress every second about damaging a "perfect" environment.
Good thing, too, because in just half a year, my children have managed to run this place far into the ground, to the point where I honestly think I will need to personally repaint it before we throw any more parties or get-togethers. I'm so embarrassed!
The last time we had friends to dinner I recovered all of our dining room chairs by hand... only to have my daughter "improve" them with her scribbling less than two weeks later. Ballpoint pen in large, loopy swirls. It doesn't really come out of upholstery fabric apparently.
The funny thing is, I've never really noticed as a child if the homes I visited were messy or small. I recall going on playdates and loving the experience of being away from home doing something totally different. Loving the newness of the environment. Feeling excited about relaxing in a place my own (meticulously clean) mother might not have enjoyed.
I never felt inclined to judge any other place... just my own home, especially now that I'm an adult.
It goes beyond just the interior of our new house unfortunately; our lawns are also in desperate need of watering, which we were trying to stay more on top of until we received our last water bill and learned that the price of maintaining a green lawn in the height of summertime is actually $318 per statement.
Um, eek! Not possible.
So, the lawn is turning brown again... and I try not to cringe or hide my head when I see our neighbors in passing.
All this to say that as much as I adore our house and love the new neighborhood, I really feel anxious about having people over ~ especially babysitters who (by the nature of their job) are already so privy to the inner workings of our life and family.
Today then, when a very sweet and smart tenth grader came by to be "interviewed" for a babysitting position with our family, I found myself cleaning for about three hours before her visit. She isn't just *any* tenth grader, there is a family connection to some very dear friends of ours... and I was anxious about the thought that it might get back to them that our house is so small and shabby. Even though it is! LOL.
You know you've got a problem when you're a 35 year old worried about the perceptions of a teenage babysitter.
Babysitters have just been *really* challenging for us to come by since we moved up here though, and I so badly want to find a good one that likes us and wants to stick with our family for a few years. The last sitter we tried out a few weeks ago was not thrilled with our kids, and when she left neither of us said anything about setting up another time.
I really hoped we'd make a good impression on this one.
I swept and scrubbed and polished and put clothes away and made beds... washed dishes and folded laundry (all while wrangling my three kids and trying to keep them from undoing my every good deed)... until at last the doorbell rang (too soon!) and the house wasn't yet ideal.
In the end, here was the biggest irony though...
It didn't even matter that our house wasn't perfectly clean because my children acted CRAZY during the interview. They were literally screaming and growling at each other while she was here. One of them used his hands to make claws and tried to scratch his sibling's faces. They spent most of her visit crying and yelling at each other.
We actually could have been living in the Taj Mahal and our home still wouldn't have seemed like a fun and relaxing place to babysit. The way my kids behaved today during the 20 minutes of our babysitting interview, we'd probably need to pay $40/hr just to get any sitter to consider the job.
My attempts to infuse any discipline into the situation went down in flames. Ultimately I had to laugh, because inside I just wanted to cry.
* * * * * * *
For at least 31 of my 35 years I was so *very* Type A. So controlling. So perfectionistic.
These three children must have come along in a swarm of Life to teach me Humility. Spontaneity. Grace under difficult circumstances. Humor.
I guess they're currently teaching me how to find inner peace by creating a constant storm of chaos; how to feel comfortable amid dirt, stains and various other minor disasters. How to let my hair down and not try so hard to make it right.
None of this comes easily to me though, and I really felt badly as I said goodbye to the potential new sitter today - not sure if we would ever hear from her again.
Calmly I turned to my eldest son (the one screeching like a banshee and attacking his siblings in front of her during the interview) and asked,
"Honey, you seem so quiet and relaxed now. Why did you act up so much when we met the new babysitter today? Did you not like her?"
"No, MOM..." he replied in that new pre-teenaged voice he is developing at the age of six. "I acted that way BECAUSE I liked her. I like her a lot! She is very pretty."
"Oh," I responded -
because I couldn't think of anything else to say. I guess he and his siblings were trying to be charming?
* * * * * * *
When I was in high school I used to tease that when I grew up I wanted to write Denny's menus because their descriptions of the food made every dish sound so mouth-watering and delicious... even though it was just, well, Denny's food. You felt like you were ordering a Rolls Royce when you might be presented fifteen minutes later with a... Yugo.
These days I am learning that I may need to adapt my descriptive language to accomodate the figurative Denny's menu that has become my family and our home.
CRAZY and LOUD
= Charming, Energetic and Articulate
SHABBY, RUN-DOWN and full of KID GRAFFITI
= Quaint, Cosy and full of Innovative, Original Decoration
My advertisement for our new babysitter will need to read something like this:
Loving couple with three charming, energetic and articulate children living in quaint, cosy home full of original design decorative artwork seek a cheerful, "glass is half-full" Pollyanna-type for ongoing babysitting position in a home that will always be full of energy and optimism.
Please give us a shot!
My fingers are crossed... for now though, I suppose I'll keep on cleaning.
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