Saturday, November 30, 2013

On Being Real

So this is my house on an average day . . . 

And this is what I want to know. How much would you judge me for the cluttered tables and clean clothes hanging around? And why is it so hard for me to admit that this is normal in my home? When did it become imperative for my home to look like a showroom?

We live in this house. And living is messy. And, yes, I'd much rather crochet and read and talk with my family than run around picking up every little thing and putting it away. And why does that seem like a bad thing? That I've failed as a wife and mother (and possibly a person) because I choose this? 

I love neat and orderly, and I have periods where that happens, but not unless I'm constantly focused on it, and that grows old after a while. Perhaps I'm just a petulant child who wants to do what she wants to do. What I really believe is that creating and talking and loving and learning are a lot more important that appearing. Maybe my real problem still comes back to needing everyone else's approval -- which I'm not going to get.

So this is what my house really looks like. If you don't care, welcome. I'll fix you a cup of tea and you can move the dog to sit down on the squished out sofa. If you do care, then maybe you shouldn't visit me after all.

1 comment:

  1. This is so timely -- I just sent a message to a friend and told her not to come by and visit until much later in the afternoon because I'll be cleaning all day! Wouldn't it be so much nicer to tell her to come over when she feels like it?


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