Piles of mail, a half finished weaning diary, some kitchen catalogues, fabric I used to make my cot bumpers, a notepad, some frayed cord from the broken blind, a stack of nappies that are too small, my Baby Whisperer book, 2 baby flannels, James’ “going out” cardy, my work pass, stacking cups, a stuffed rabbit (“Niall”), some speakers that I need to put on ebay…
I could go on. These are just some of the things in my front room that need to be sorted and tidied. The stark fact is that my house is a mess. Since James arrived I’ve had less and less time to tidy, more and more stuff, and I’m here all the time so I notice every little thing that’s out of place. There must be a knack to doing hyper efficient tidying and on a good day I surprise myself with how many things I can get done in a 20 minute window, but I am yet to master this skill.
Lately I’ve started to realise that I’m striving for an unattainable goal. I’m not one of these floaty, gentle-voiced, enjoys-doing-the-washing-up, how-does-she-do-it? sort of mums. And the thing is, most other mums aren’t either. We’ve all got a house we’re ashamed of. We’d all like to grab a bin-bag, cram everything into it and start afresh. When our houses do look tidy it’s because we’ve shoved everything into a cupboard, the spare room, or onto our bed and shut the door.
Well you know what, enough is enough. I have a friend who has a rule that you can’t come to her house unless she knows your house is equally messy. Let’s all adopt it. Or at the very least, don’t start hyperventilating when you visit your friend’s house and it’s spotless. Go quietly, find that closed door, and take a relaxing breath in knowing that they, just like you, are pretending that they can do it all.