Waving the White Flag

Sometimes I feel so defeated.

I sat out in the porch and organized the bookshelf by age, size, and genre. Okay, not genre, but it sounded impressive. I put away all the shoes in the storage bin and on the racks by season and frequency of use (<--That's true. I really did). I picked up all the toys and trekked them back to their assigned places in the girls room and the dining room/play room (Bobby doesn't have a room) and threw away one dead cricket (gross). I swept up crunched up chip crumbs and paper scraps from pipers book making projects.

I looked around and tidied a few other odds and ends. I went to the bathroom and noticed a rogue shoe that had been tucked underneath the kids' step stool. I took it back to the front porch to put it in the bin and stopped short.

I honestly questioned whether I dreamed the whole cleaning scenario.

Books and shoes were strewn all over every corner of the room. Chalk marks streaked up and down the carpet. The same toys I had just put away, returned to their almost exact same spots as before.

I am NOT a neat freak. I don't care that much about messes or dirt.

But some people in our home do (ahem Brad). And his stress over it stresses me out.  And really, it is just easier to relax in a (semi) tidy home. 

It's just impossible, though. The kids plain won today. Every day. It's so overwhelming at times I want to sit in the corner and just wave the white flag. I literally started scooping things up by the armful and throwing them away because I was choking on clutter and the popcorn and pepperoni peppered carpet. I'm not kidding. It was like the carpet was our pizza and the popcorn and pepperoni were our toppings. And we walk on our pizza. Which in reality is not necessarily an exclusion for consumption.  I felt like I had walked into the middle of a frat party.

Someday (soon) we're supposed to move to the house out at the farm. I'm really considering the machine shed instead. We should not be allowed to inhabit any space where tidiness, cleanliness, or a general rule of organization are preferred. It's just not practical.  We'll reconsider in 20 years.

And even more discouraging than all that is how crabby it makes me. I can't even hear the pleas to play Mario kart or be a spotter for back hand springs or for more water or to come wipe their butts because all I can see is the pizza floor and chalked up carpet. And it sucks. Because I'd rather do those other things. Guilt free. Okay not the wiping. But I'm pretty sure someday I'll probably even miss that too. Parenting is so weird. And hard.

And just 100% the best thing I've ever done.