not a totally unrealistic depiction of my house when things get wild
If I’m honest with you, keeping home has never been a strong suit of mine. Heck, I’ve never been accused of keeping anything well. It pains me to admit that and I’ve fought years against the grain, but it’s probably time to just tell you that I’m more a home maker than a house keeper.
I enjoy the creative part of my home more than the industrious part. I love cooking, I love decorating, I love dreaming up new ways to use our space. I, however, do not love scrubbing toilets or even doing simple things like not making piles on every ding-dang surface.
I drive my husband crazy. If he could change one thing about me, I’m 99.98% certain he’d wish I were more like his mom when it comes to housekeeping. His mom is fastidious and it makes her home a really relaxing place to be. I’m so thankful for that. I truly enjoy it there and invite myself over when my mind is feeling extra unruly.
Mike likes order and we both know I’m the least orderly woman in the Midwest.
When we were planning the conference and awaiting Eli, we had a housekeeper come once per month. It was enough to keep dust bunnies from having dust bunny babies, but not enough to keep me from having to…you know…pick up. Do dishes. Do laundry. ALL OF THE THINGS.
But, it made my husband happy to know that the baseboards were taken care of and the showers were sanitary. And it makes me happy to not have to do those things.
We got lax, though. We stopped scheduling the housekeeper to come, because who needs another thing to schedule when you have 4 boys? I could hardly keep track of when everyone needed to eat, go to school, and sleep.
It shouldn’t have hurt my feelings, then, the other day when Mike came home one evening and suggested that we have the housekeeper come again. It should have made me happy, relieved. Instead, I felt vulnerable and found out. I felt exposed. Instead of hearing him say that he wanted to take something off my plate, I felt like he was saying I wasn’t enough.
What I heard him say more than anything was that I can’t do it all. And y’all? I was offended.
Of course, he is right. Obviously, I can’t do it all. But, the prideful gross part of me sure wants to try. I want to try to do it all (and well) and I’ll burn out and be exhausted. I know that it’s important to him to have a tidy house and he’s even offering to pay someone to take it off my plate. BUT. BUT. That means I’d have to admit that I’m not good at everything and I can’t do it all. And that stings.
And, I even hate that it stings. Of course, I want also to be awesome at humility. I want to be good at everything, including but not limited to humility.