Merry Maids

I’m a rotten mother. The stress that has been pressing down on me from all the craziness with the county has started oozing out of my pores. My patience level is non-existent and the children are feeling the brunt of my malaise. On Sunday, I sat down a moment when the kids were napping and fell asleep. The morning had been frustrating, it seemed the more I cleaned the more messes I had to clean up. I would barely get done with one task when a new one would appear, or sometimes I couldn’t complete one task until taking care of an issue first. I couldn’t make breakfast until I washed some dishes because no one washed the dishes the day before (I was washing dishes when the adoption case worker came over and never got back to finish them). After breakfast, while I was washing more dishes (we really could use a dishwasher!), Chica Marie fell in a puddle of dog pee and I had to stop to clean it up. And so went the day. So, when Love Bug startled me from my nap by screaming in my face that he wanted juice, my reaction was not pleasant. I shoved him off of me and screamed at him. Not my finest moment by far. And, sadly, it took me more than a few minutes to make up to him with a cuddle and cup of juice. I felt so guilty about it the rest of the day.

 

Given all that has happened with the county, I feel an added pressure to be super-mom. It’s like I have to work to prove myself every single day or Chica Marie will be whisked away to her grandmothers. I have to make sure the house is perfectly spotless, which if you live with a toddler, you know is impossible, let alone the furry roommates who add to the mess. I have to be sure I stay on top of all of the school stuff and report appropriate things to the therapy and teaching staff. I have to balance my work schedule with the various appointments for all three kids plus myself. I have to make sure we do enough fun family things that can be written about in reports (and because we like doing them and would do them otherwise, it just seems important to have things to report). I have to make healthy meals the people will eat, or at least the majority of the people (Primero pretty much lives off of Cup of Soup and canned spaghetti not matter what I make). I work a full-time job outside of the home, so I don’t have many hours during the week, even less when you add in all the therapy and other appointments we have – like trainings. I’m supposed to find time for myself. I need to spend time alone with each child. And, I have all the chores – the laundry, dishes, sweeping, vacuuming, dusting, washing, wiping, mopping, scrubbing, rearranging, picking up, putting away.

 

I’m tired. I knew motherhood wasn’t easy, but so much of my time is spent cleaning up after the little darlings that I hardly get time to spend with them, unless snarling at them to not walk on my freshly washed floor counts. It’s maddening! I want to be the mom who lets the kids finger paint and help me bake cookies and never wince at the mess they are making because it’s just one. more. thing. I have to clean. I grew up on a farm. We were very messy kids. Playing in mud was literally our summer past time. So, how did I become this neurotic maniac who cringes at every crumb the kids drop? Maybe it’s because I feel like the maid, constantly cleaning up from one mess to another. Maybe I could use some help? I’ve taught Chica Marie to sweep the floor and wipe up messes, but sometimes her cleaning help only equates more of a mess for me. I wish I could just let it all go, and maybe I will after the adoption, but most of the time I’m hoping the multitude of professionals traipsing through our house can’t feel whatever is crunching on the floor through their shoes.

 

I’ve contemplated saving up and have a Merry Maids service come clean the house once a month to give me a break, but I know me. If I do that, it means I will pre-clean before they get there because I won’t want them to know the levels of slovenly depravity in which we live. So, that kind of defeats the purpose. Still, it might be worth it to get the things done I am forever trying to get around to. I suppose things might be easier if I had a partner, but I didn’t really find it to be true when I was married. I would need to be married to a second me in order to truly unclench and relax a bit because my real issue is that my standards are too high. My home will never be featured in Better Homes and Gardens, but shhh don't tell my inner perfectionist!

 

What works best is for us to be busy on the weekends, to be out of the house and therefore my inner perfectionist doesn’t have to grumpily stomp around the messy house with a sourpuss face. It’s not possible for us to be out and about all the time, but when we can, we really should be out. This cuts the hours of time I have to dedicate to cleaning and lessens the frustrations I feel about the house not meeting my standards. It would also help to not feel like my house is being judged every time a professional comes over, but this too shall pass.