Call me a slow learner, but I didn’t realize that chaos would be a chronic condition of family life until my youngest was in kindergarten.
I remember the day. We were pulling into the school parking lot when my daughter reminded me that she was supposed to have brought five things that started with the letter “S.”
I quickly weighed my options: 1: plead mommy Alzheimer’s; 2: scurry back home. Then I saw the answer in front of me. Scattered around the car — which, before kids was always immaculate — were sunscreen, a straw, sunglasses, a shoe and a sock.
Bingo! We’d hit our quota without counting the soccer ball and my daughter’s sandwich. I actually could have covered several letters of the alphabet.
As we put the “S” items in a “sack” I found under the seat, we laughed, but I couldn’t help thinking two thoughts: 1. Good thing I didn’t clean the car. 1. What does this say about my life?
My car, you see, is a microcosm of my house. Since I had children, an orderly home has become about as common as a full night’s sleep. Years ago, you could have dropped by any time and my house would have looked pulled together and company-ready. Then came kids, God’s punch line.
A baby enters a house like a small hand-grenade programmed to detonate daily: Laundry: Kaboom! Dishes: Kerpow! Toys:-Kablam! You’re not finished when your kid has stopped spitting up and is out of diapers. Oh no. Next it’s mud on the stairs, bike tracks on the walls, candy in the carpet and French fries between the seat cushions.
Once you’re a parent, you have two choices: a) Live with the fact your place looks chronically vandalized. b) Raise neurotic children.
“The nice thing about kids,” a psychologist friend once told me, “is they take your life apart one piece at a time.”
Though I resisted this falling of standards, eventually it became more important that my kids were happy and comfortable than that everything around us was just so, which meant that I held my tongue when I found a cup of earthworms in the refrigerator. Like the car episode, less- than-perfect housekeeping has offered an occasional blessing.
Take our Pluto experience. One evening, my daughter, then 9, announced she had to make a diorama of Pluto and her moon (Charon) for school the next day.
Hastily, we lined the inside of a shoe box with black paper and, using paper clips and dental floss, hung two balls — a blue dog toy (Pluto) and a golf ball (Charon). By then it was way past bedtime. As I stood by overseeing toothbrushing, she complained, “It doesn’t have stars.”
“Tell the teacher it was cloudy on Pluto and the stars weren’t out.”
“It needs stars.”
“No time,” I said to her toothpaste-spattered reflection in the mirror. Just as I was thinking that I really should clean the mirror, inspiration flashed across her face. Moving quickly, she took her toothbrush and started flicking the brush onto the black paper. The foam dried white, and presto! Stars in under 30 seconds. This wouldn’t have happened if the mirrors were clean.
In my fussier days, I cringed when my family left the family room looking as if the Tasmanian devil had come through with his henchmen. I’d grumble as I picked up toys, straightened sofa pillows and cleared bowls of popcorn remains.
But one evening my dad was over, and my perspective changed. After the kids were in bed and I stood surveying the upended room with exasperation, Dad put his arm around me and said: “Isn’t this beautiful?”
Just like the kids — and most men — he didn’t see any mess, just all the fun we’d had. Now when I encounter kid- created chaos, I try to see the joy behind it rather than the burden. Sure, I miss the serenity that comes from an orderly home and a hygienic car, but my kids have taught me that houses are for living in.
Syndicated columnist Marni Jameson is the author of “The House Always Wins” (Da Capo), available through Amazon and Barnes & Noble. You may contact her through .
Inflict some rules, then let chaos reign
Next time you feel stressed because your house looks as if it were ransacked by buffalo on a beer binge, try these tricks:
When the fun is over, put a laundry basket in the offending room. Have the kids dump in everything that doesn’t belong in that room — shoes, cups, Fritos bags, the cat, each other. This clears the room and makes putting items away easier.
Stop pretending the kitchen is yours. I’ve surrendered an entire kitchen cupboard, a pantry shelf and a large drawer to children’s craft materials. If you think this stuff will go away if you don’t make room for it, you’re delusional.
Adopt this rule: What happens outside stays outside — or at least in the garage. Create a zone in your garage with open shelves, cubbies and peg board to host sports gear. Make a sign: “Park all soccer shoes, knee pads, roller blades, helmets, ski poles, balls, rackets, bats, blood and mud here, and no one gets hurt. — The Management.”
Then take the following to heart:
Just as dirt builds immunities, chaos breeds creativity. Disorganization encourages resourcefulness, and relaxing the rules fosters flexibility.
Show me one kid who feels more loved because his parents cleaned more, and I’ll show you a kid with bowel problems.
