Messiness

A classic mess.  Once a ramekin used for creme brulee, this dish shattered and distributed sticky quinoa all over the floor for mommy to clean up before she could even take her first sip of morning coffee.

Messiness includes, but is not limited to the following:

Toys: their mere existence.

Not wearing make-up regularly.

Sticky mystery spots on the floor.

Having to change even your underwear after and extreme spit-up session.

Constant interruption of a simple task like doing laundry. (or writing a blog entry)

Being late.

A cherished item becoming scratched.

Finding a plastic pickle in your bed when you finally pull back the covers to climb in.

A Tantrum.

The play broom sweeping away Mommy's real broom's dust pile.

Not remembering when you showered last.

The ever-popluar snot nose child.  Cute though, eh?

I am a tidy person.  A person who aspires to minimalism and order.  I believe every thing has a place of belonging, and life is better when things are clean and organized.  William Morris, a father of the Arts and Crafts movement, once stated "Have nothing in your house that you do not know to be useful, or believe to be beautiful."  This idea is virtually the only guiding principle for my 'sense of design.'  

And then there are children.

Children poke holes in your paper lamp shades and your philosophies.  The holes shed a pointed light on what you really believe.  And what I really believe is that I deserve to be in control of my environment and have everything just the way I like it all the time and how dare you interfere with perfection you little snot nose person.

Have you seen the coffee mug/bumper sticker/fridge magnet that says something like 'Immaculate women lead boring lives'?  Its true, I think.  And to take it one step further, immaculate women lead frustrated husbands…This, however, is not as sunny an expression, so I won't bother sending it in to Hallmark...I digress.

Sustaining household perfection can easily go beyond boring and soar straight up to egotistical and tyrannical. 

This was once my prized possession.  A designer chair worth a lot of money, just to be honest.  I refuse to live in such a way as to relegate some belongings to ceremonial usage only.  So this chair is part of everyday family life and as such has suffered greatly.  Not sure if this image truly shows it's deplorable condition.

My life at home with children leads me to wonder; where is the line between overbearing attention to order, and a healthy respect for all things being intact?  I don't know the answer to this, and my adherence to one or the other tenets depends largely on how much sleep I've had.

I know I don't want my house to be messy.  Nearly everyday since my first child was born I have had to struggle with the answer to the following question: Does this mess make me feel like I am not in control of my life?

Turns out I am not in control of my life.  Who knew!?  Turns out it is exhausting to keep tidying up stuff in a vain and misappropriated effort to tidy up my personhood--or my children's.  Turns out the sun sets and rises regardless of the state of my living room.  

Turns out 'mess' was one of my daughter's first words….

A fine mess.  A fine husband cleaning up a fine mess!  The origins of this mess was something great--a late dinner (after the kids went to bed) with some good friends.  We cooked up some spectacular non-kid-friendly food and ate at length and in peace, for once.  But even goodness creates mess.  

I got nothin'

I have been wanting to work on this blog for days now.  Make it pretty.  Design a banner for the title.  I have another idea to blog about--messiness.  I haven't done anything, however.  My son is not sleeping well anywhere, anytime, and there have been a bunch of other things to do.  Sigh.  Today he decided to sleep for a long time, but didn't bother to give me any advanced notice that he would do so, so I never built up the momentum to get a project done while I had the chance.  So, instead, here is a little post that captures this very moment before it ends when my 2-year-old wakes up.

This is Atley sleeping right now.  This is what it looks like when my world stops while both kids sleep and I decide not to spend my precious time tidying.

Atley is a smiley boy for all the trouble he causes!  I finally got one on 'film'!

Well, I am still in shock that somebody hasn't woken up by now.  I could be sleeping!!!  Surely, as soon as my head hits a pillow, one of them will rise and shine, so I guess I'll sweep the floor...

Identity Crisis.

I have a 4-year degree in Interior Design from a University with an accredited and top ranked Interior Design Program.  This is the extent of my daughter's 2-year birthday party decorations:

A plastic chip and dip tray taped to the wall.  Really?

Who am I again?

I used to think I was a very artistic, creative, industrious person.  

Ok. Let me rephrase that.  I used to place all my identity in the fact that I am those things.  

I should be more honest.  

By 'identity', I mean worth.  I have realized that I think that all of my worth is tied to my ability to succeed in various creative and academic endeavors.  

Now I suppose I am still all of those things, but it feels like its all slipping away from me like the bags of dirty cloth diapers I set on the porch every week for the diaper service guy to pick up (which, by the way, is actually a wonderful moment for me every Friday).  

Being a stay-at-home-mom, I do not get the privilege of exercising this identity that I speak of.  It freaks me out.  All experienced moms say 'don't worry, it will all get better someday.'  But I still ask what about NOW?  How am I supposed to be okay with the fact that I can rarely ever flex my creative muscles--and when/if I do, it is a severely curtailed escapade.  

"How can God let this happen!?!"  I find myself asking all the time, angrily.

I have given God much thanks for giving me the skills and desire to be creative.  Art has brought me through some really heavy stuff in my life since I was a little kid and drawn me closer to the heart of God.  I am so grateful to have a mind for beauty despite, or perhaps because of, pain.  

However, now I have pain, and no ability to work it out the way I always used to--behind a paint brush or sewing machine. 

God:

Maybe I have limited your ability to be creative during this time so that you will stop being prideful and attempting to be your own God.  I am your God.  You are my child.  Your identity is that I love you to death.  End of story.  Everything else is a gift. If that's humbling, good.  I only want you, not all the stuff you've made or the impressive and by-gone G.P.A.  

Time to find out who you really are underneath all those layers of capabilities. 

Hmmm.

Ok.

But I'm still not super happy.  Thank you God for teaching me.  Thank you that I don't have to feel happy before I can know that you are good.  Please help me find satisfaction and happiness during this time.  I'm not sure where to look for it...

I am satisfied with this little girl, especially when she is obedient.    I am also satisfied with the abstracted birch trees I was able to paint on the wall of the living room too--you can sort of see those behind the static head.

Also, this made me laugh and cry:

"I feel as useless as a mom's college degree." Kenneth, the Page. (30 Rock, 'The Problem Solvers' episode)