There is a constant, ever-present battle going on in my home. I know I'm not winning this battle, and I'm aware I never will. It often takes over my whole life, but sometimes I choose to ignore it. I occasionally have allies who try to help too, but for the most part I'm alone. It’s a losing battle, for sure, and one I probably won’t win until my son in college. The name of this epic war? Having a clean home. And if you have kids, you know there are multiple stages of cleaning when you’re a mom that make this war a soul-crushing, exhausting, pointless endeavor.
To be fair, I’ve never really been much of a "cleaner." I mean, I can do my best to tidy up a bit, sure, but that whole "deep cleaning" thing was never something I was expected to do, wanted to do, or found joy in doing. And when I did finally cave under the pressure and do some cleaning, it was just me and my headphones going to town on the dishes or changing bed sheets or dusting whatever was within arm's reach. I did what I had to, as a grown-ass adult, and I moved on, because who likes to clean, right?
I had no idea adding a child to the mix would also add so much additional chaos and stress to the already annoying task that is cleaning. I love my son, obviously, but he’s learning to be more organized himself, so it's not like he can help me mitigate the situation. Really, it’s not even his mess so much as his frequent interruptions whenever my partner and I attempt to clean that make it a near-impossible task. Coupled with the sheer exhaustion of simply being a parent and, well, cleaning has become a complex process. Here’s what I mean: