Dare Not to Care...

So I'm not a perfectionist. Far from it. In fact, I think I'm generally pretty OK with all of our imperfections.

But occasionally, I get a little...well, stuck on something.

Like the fact that my house always such a mess. I try. I even manage to clean it sometimes. And then, within a day, or an hour, or five freakin minutes, it's a mess again.

So I give up for a while.

Like the fact that I can never manage to get laundry put away. I wash it. I dry it. I fold it. I put it in baskets, and occasionally I even take up it to the correct person's room.

And there it sits.

Like the fact that I am always looking for something. Usually it's something I know I put in a safe place.

If only I could remember where that place was.

Like the fact that I have a grand total of ONE picture in which all three kids are looking at the camera, smiling, and not making goofy faces or waving a corn dog in front of the camera. It was taken in 2011.

 I took approximately 500 pictures that year, which means that in 1 of 500 pictures, my kids look normal.

Come to think of it, that's about how often they actually are normal, so maybe I shouldn't complain.

 I wish these things didn't drive me crazy. I wish I could be one of those people who could either keep it all together, or stop caring that it's not all together. Because the reality is, some people are just better at keeping it all mostly together than I am.

And the other reality is that some people are better at not caring because they drink a bottle of wine and pop three xanax for lunch every day.

But I'm realizing what an absolute waste it is...this time spent caring about all of that. And really, worrying about things you can't change never got anyone anywhere. And, as far as I can see, the fact that my house gets trashed five minutes after I clean it is not going to change anytime soon. Neither are the piles of laundry. Or the corn dogs in the pictures.

So I'm working on embracing it.

The messy house? It means kids live here. It means they have toys, and they know what it is to play. It means that they have books that they can or will be able to read. It means they can run around, strewing crap everywhere they go, because their little bodies work the way they're supposed to.

The piles of clothes? At least they're clean. I don't always have time to put them away because I'm busy with the kids who wear them. OK, fine, sometimes I don't put them away because I'm hiding in the bathroom for a brief reprieve.

I'm a much better mother for those bathroom moments.

Those intentionally goofy grins and poses that seem to be in every picture? They encompass the amazing spirits of these children, who remind me every day that laughter and joy are more important than appearances.

And the corn dog is proof that I fed them that day.

People who have been where I am (though probably without the same magnitude of laundry problem) tell me that someday, my house will be orderly. My laundry put away. My family pictures perfect.

But that, in spite of all that, I will still be looking for something.

I will be looking for kids who don't always sit still and smile in pictures. For a house that has too much life in it to be clean all the time. For more important things to do than put laundry away.

I will be looking for all of this.

And I'm trying hard not to forget it.