Finding Joy in the Mess

My house is never tidy these days.

I try. Really. We got a robot vacuum that we affectionally named Peggy ,who goes around a couple times a day, cleaning up all the little bits that are dropped and ignored. Her only drawback is that she isn’t great with sand or rice, but overall, she’s been a welcome addition to the family.

But even Peggy can only do so much. Laundry builds up. I’ve tried every trick in the book. I even got pretty cottage core laundry baskets to inspire me to move laundry through. They look so lovely in the garden as I hang up the washing. Even the damp clothes look prettier in them. But in fact, the only thing that inspires me to move the laundry around is realising that I left a load too long in the washing machine and I have to wash it again.

Toys are everywhere. Despite trying to restrict them to the playroom, toys seem to spread and multiply throughout the house. Upstairs, a completed train track with an abandoned train slowly puttering along. In the bedroom, papers and colour pencils and minuscule pieces of chopped up paper, cut carefully by toddler scissors. Downstairs, approximately 1 billion legos on the rug, a half-finished gemstone dig on the school table, and cars litter the playroom.

Even the cats join in, leaving their toys where we least expect them: the table, the bed, and the bathroom sink.

My Mother-in-Law has a plaque on her kitchen wall that I used to ignore until I had my children. “Cleaning your house while you have children is like shovelling snow in a blizzard.”

I think about that plaque a lot these days.

It’s so true. I can’t keep a spotless, Instagram-worthy house right now. The minute I clean something up, someone else has made a mess.

Side note: I tested this out this one day. The kids played quietly in their playroom while I ensured the kitchen was sparkling. The playroom on the other hand? Absolute disaster. I simply traded one messy room for another for a bit.

I love having a clean house, but I don’t rely on that to bring me joy.

I used to scroll through Pinterest and see spotless living rooms, artfully arranged pillows on a bed, and the perfectly set dining table, complete with a waterfall of flowers and charcuterie boards. Now, it seems too clean and empty. Where are the playmobile centrepieces? What about the heaps of stuffed animals on the pillows? The lonely sock whose mate was eaten by the washing machine, sitting all by itself on the radiator. I’ve adapted my mindset. I can find joy in the mess because it means my children are also finding joy.

I love having a clean house, but I don’t rely on that to bring me joy. What brings me joy is watching my son plow his cars through the Legs, giggling as they scatter across the rug. Watching the baby figure out nesting cups and stacking toys and baby puzzles. Seeing my older daughter’s pride as she knocks another gemstone out of the block of sand for her rock collection. My children and by extension their imaginative games with toys brings me joy.

The laundry and fingerprints can wait a few years. My children are only little this once. Their joy and happiness is infectious and soaking up their joy is far better than having the most instagram worthy home.

This post is part of a blog hop with Exhale—an online community of women pursuing creativity alongside motherhood, led by the writing team behind Coffee + Crumbs. Click here to view the next post in the series "Still Motherhood".