Dirty Houses, Despair & the Dilemma

I wanted to cry-- quite nearly did burst into tears-- when I saw what the kids managed to do to the house tonight. I guess it's not so much out of the ordinary, except that over the years it's really taken a toll on the house, to the point where I'm disgusted by the state of my own dwelling space.

OK, most of you moms are probably out there nodding your heads and thinking you know what I mean.

But seriously . . . I doubt you know what I mean. At least not on the level I'm experiencing.

Over the years I've had the opportunity to be in the houses of many, many moms, both when they had time to get their houses nice and spiffy beforehand and times when I was there to serve and things weren't at their best. Only a bare handful of times have I ever been in someone's home that has been trashed to the level that mine has. In these cases I have always been acutely uncomfortable. It's not an environment I relish. And now it's my full time reality.

I thought I had it bad in Sanders. You know in Sanders we lived in state-provided housing. The maintenance guys did monthly inspections, both to check for repairs that might be needed and also to make sure we were keeping the property decent. They did a surprise inspection once when we weren't home, either during my pregnancy with B or shortly afterward when she was a newborn. And I guess the mess they saw was so bad that Terence ended up getting an official reprimand, handed down the chain of command. That meant EVERYONE Terence worked with-- and all of my neighbors-- knew that I officially sucked at keeping my house presentable. It was humiliating.

But it's nothing compared to how things look now. I have more kids, you see. M and J were a tag-team duo of destruction as toddlers and preschoolers, but now there are two more-- and the older two haven't exactly grown out of it. I'm not talking about toys or clothes strewn everywhere. That's normal. Rather I'm talking about the kind of stuff that ruins your walls and carpets, breaks your furniture, and generally makes your house look run down and filthy.

This week I have my nephew staying with us. Now none of my nieces or nephews are human tornadoes. Not one. (You should see my sisters' houses. I love being in either of them, they are so homey and nice!) But for some reason, if they get added into the mix with my kids, the destruction aura seems to include them too. (Once my niece, as an otherwise perfectly well-behaved 7 year old, drew pictures with permanent marker on M's bed sheets.) Tonight, the joy that everyone seemed to participate in was smashing strawberries and grapes all of the living room and hallway and J's room. Oh, I suspect that B and K were the worst. K probably scattered the fruit everywhere, and I know B was rolling on the strawberries because she had red splotches all over her nightgown. But after a little interrogation I learned that all the older kids had stomped all over the fruit without any second thoughts at all. Except to complain about sticky feet afterward. Apparently they were having some kind of wrestling match and a little fruit under your feet was just part of the fun.

I didn't flip out much. It just depressed me. I walked around picking up fruit and taking stock of my house tonight. My carpet has already been stained so badly that this will just contribute to the overall multi-colored pattern it has been acquiring. My living room furniture is not only stained (it was part of the fruit squashing), they have already ripped parts away. I've even caught a couple of them attacking the big corner chair with scissors. I have toothpaste smeared on the walls. Probably a whole tube's worth. There are lines of chocolate from where K dragged a chocolatey hand down the hallway. I have several holes in the walls, gouges in the linoleum, and wallpaper that has been ripped away.

I think the worst feeling is that the state of my house is my own fault. It's not like I can blame this on the kids. Yes, I have unusually destructive children who seem to bring out those tendencies in anyone who comes to visit. But where was I while all this destruction was going on? I spend a fair amount of time reading, writing stories, and vegging on my computer, and it is enough time for all this to happen. I am not a cleaning nazi who follows right behind my children and hounds them to pick up after themselves or freaks out if they even show a hint of making a mess. I guess it's the price I pay for the peace I get in my life.

But at what cost? Can I continue to live like this? On the other hand, do I really want to spend my entire day either cleaning or nagging at my children? (I do enough of that as it is.)

I don't know. I guess I can't have my cake and eat it too.