Life is Super Funny

I struggle with keeping my house tidy. Not clean, that part is fine. I struggle with getting everyone to pick up their stuff. All day long, I walk around, pick up stuff, and return it to its proper place. This bugs me for several reasons. One: am I the only person who can see this amount of filth?

And how can I get that filter on myself? I would love to be able to go into a room and not notice the 726543 things that don't belong in that room.

This is a constant source of frustration for me. I feel like a drill sergeant, I nag and it never changes topic. Pick up your shoes. Pick up your coat. Pick up your book bag. Pack up your schoolwork. Whose pencil is this? Whose paper is this? Why are there socks in front of the toilet? Stand the shampoo bottles up - don't leave your lego minifigs on the table.

Once, I was very very frustrated. I picked everything up that didn't belong in a room, and I put it into a laundry basket. I called a family meeting, had a speech, and gave everyone back their stuff. They didn't care. I tried holding it for ransom, charging them per item – nothing seems to work.

And I get so frustrated, it affects how I behave towards my family. I don't like this. I don't like that asking nicely doesn't seem to help, asking firmly doesn't get me anywhere, and setting an expectation – and expecting it to be followed – doesn't seem to work either. I do not want to be the self-sacrificing martyr mother, the slave that services everyone else's needs.

We are a FAMILY. Not a society in which everyone drops everything wherever and I walk around and pick it back up.

And I don't want to be a harridian. It's not the memory I want. It's not the face I wish to present.

But, oh, am I so super aggravated.

______________________

Three days ago, I opened my Facebook to find that a very good friend reported that her son had been involved in a critical motor vehicle versus semitruck accident. Her son was in critical condition and on life support. The next day, Max passed on. I'm devastated for my friend, reeling at the thought that her beloved firstborn son, a boy of 19, close in age to my own children, could be gone from this world. He was everything that is good and right – always there to lend a hand, always happy, in short – the best kind of kid.

And I'm sure his mother could care less if there's any mess in her house that he left behind.

It's a sobering lesson for all of us.

_____________________

I've tried, with varying levels of success, to get a handle on this situation, being cognizant of the reality that, in the long run, mess doesn't matter - life does.

Love matters.

Appreciation, kindness, gentleness and making people feel good are what is important.

What happened this week has rattled me.

But I'd be a liar if I said I was no longer bothered by the intense lack of personal responsibility that I see displayed. And frustrated at the ability to reign in both the laziness and my own frustration, and balance it with appreciation and love.

Especially when I feel little of it coming back my way.

Except from my husband.

Comments

[Kay]

Carmen, thanks for posting this. Just this morning my husband and I were going on about our 14 year old son eating in his room and hiding dirty dishes under the bed. Like your situation, nothing seems to work. Punishing, talking, nothing. The death of your friends child really puts that into perspective. I will take dirty dishes any day over that heart ache. Prayers from me to your friend.

[Terry]

Carmen, I could have written this today. I totally agree with everything you said. Also, I don't know if I ever told you, but I really like the picture above of you and your children.

[maggie]

I remember a poem an aunt once gave me about how when the house is empty and the kids are grown and gone we will miss the mess. I try to think of this when I get in one of my moods about messes. And yes, perspective! Our hearts always break with the loss of a child.

[JMB]

How very true. When tragedy strikes it often makes our lives look so banal. I'm sorry for your friend and the loss of her son. There are no words to say.

[Sonja]

Well I am on the opposite end of the spectrum - I CAN easily walk by a mess and ignore it. However, it does not make me happy. At all. My house is cleanest when we have company (aren't most of us that way?) and I try really hard to keep it that way afterwards. But it's the kids!! My daughter thinks the kitchen table is her personal storage space. My son leaves socks and Legos everywhere, and those suckers hurt when you step on them!!
One thing I tried for a while that sort of worked is this: take a laundry basket into one room and put anything that doesn't belong in that room in the basket. Go to the next room, replace things that do belong there and pick up anything that doesn't. Continue doing this through the rooms and by the time you get back to the first room, the basket should be empty. But yeah - I got tired of being the only one who was doing it so it ultimately failed.
And you are allowed to still be annoyed even though there was a tragedy. So very sad.

[DebB]

I can tell you from first hand that giving up the fight to keep on top of the messes grows into an embarrassingly messy house. Today we really tried to start turning that around... again. I have yet to figure out how to take care of my family with 6 kids, work outside the home, and stay on top of my house as well. My kids want to have people come to our home as much as my husband and I do, but don't seem to understand the importance of helping with the house *daily*. I know the relationship I am building with my kids will be what is most important in the long run, but on the other hand I want to teach them to be more organized than we currently are to have more healthy homes of their own. Let this be the the biggest challenge we face... Wishing much strength and healing to your friend and her family.

[Stephanie ODea]

I feel clausterphobic and panicky when our house is cluttery and I, too, get snappish. hell, I've written a book on getting kids to do chores, and yet my own STILL don't really do them unless I'm constantly riding them.

It's exhausting.

I broke down over the weekend about the same thing you did. Life is too short, too precious, too fleeting, and while I don't want my kids to remember me as a nagging shrew, I also don't want to turn them loose into a world without knowing how to pick up after themselves.

[likeablegirl]

I know when you hear of a tragedy like the one your friend experienced (& my condolences that you have lost a friend in that child also), it makes you want to hold your babies closer and tempts you to give them a free pass on some of the things that suddenly don't seem to matter. But that free pass is the thing that's building up on you - you've given them free passes because this strategy or that strategy didn't work. Like it was your fault that you hadn't found the right key or the clever-enough strategy yet. And then you give yourself a free pass because you didn't want to feel a certain way.

But there are no free passes on filth. Either something is picked up or it's not. Either it's clean or it's not. No one wants to clean. And just because they don't want to, doesn't mean you should have to do more of something you don't want to do. Part of becoming a responsible adult is sucking up the things that aren't fun & you don't want to do and just getting them done. Who else is supposed to teach them that? The college roommate that stuffs a pillow case with dirty socks or leaves all the dirty dishes in their bed?

Set a timer 30 minutes before dinner. Tell them the clock is ticking. Anyone that doesn't (a) either get all their stuff picked up or (b) spend at least 30 minutes sincerely trying to get it done doesn't get friends over/TV/games/non-educational books/iPad/computer after dinner, or has to load the dishwasher after dinner, or clean the cat box, or doesn't get their favorite part of dinner, etc. Something that matters to your kids. In the alternative, anyone who gets it done all week long gets to pick a favorite thing for dinner in the next week.