My life is a mess. I'm a loving wife, mother, and a teacher. I was respected in graduate school. My current colleagues trust me with roles that require responsibility. I have great, meaningful relationships with my friends. Why is my life a mess? I'm a secret slob.
I've been one my whole life, really. Clothes, toys, and books haphazardly tossed around my room in a monsoon-like fashion. When I was in elementary school, my teacher, I forget her name, peered inside of my desk. It was one of those desks with the lids that lifted. She was appalled at my wretched state of being. Papers disheveled, torn, and wrinkled. Soft-covered workbooks were folded and torn. I think she was surprised, and disappointed, because I was a good student.
The house I lived in during high school was large and newly built, a source of pride for my family. It had 6 bedrooms and 2.5 bathrooms, marble-topped this-and-that and over priced furniture. I called it the museum because we weren't allowed to touch anything. My Mom hated my bedroom because she wanted to show off the house to visitors, and of the three children, I was the messiest. Mom always made me clean, and I vowed I'd never clean a day in my life as an adult, "I'll get a maid!" I proclaimed. Nonetheless, I heard "clean your room" as often as I heard "I love you." And my Mother really loves me.
I know I was difficult to live with in college. As an English major and self-proclaimed writer, I left paper trails throughout the common living areas because my bedroom was cluttered with clothes, accessories, childhood memorabilia and bulk furniture. Ashtrays were filled to the brim with stale cigarette butts. I could've been one of those embarrassed families on Clean House. I was on my way to graduating; moving up to Hoarders. Luckily my roommate was a coffee addict who would drink it pots at a time and clean several days a week.
For the record, she and I are still friends, and she says I have straightened up a bit, literally.
But just a bit.
I had to. I had a baby. When I was pregnant, I was petrified that I would trip over my mess while holding the baby.
Clothes are still on the floor. Often times they are separated by laundry loads, though. We can't afford a maid, as my teenage self would be disappointed to know. We do pay our next-door teenager to sit with our baby twice a month for an hour and a half so we can straighten up our house. Family also volunteers to come sit with the baby so we can get stuff done. Five month old babies require a lot of attention.
I'm also lucky to have a husband who lives in the 21st century. He definitely pulls his weight in housework. Honestly, he pulls some of mine too. We agreed if we were ever in the position to have only one working spouse, he would be the one to stay at home. He is just better at that stuff than me. And I am a career girl at heart.
Being a secret slob is a flaw. But I'm working on it.
I've been one my whole life, really. Clothes, toys, and books haphazardly tossed around my room in a monsoon-like fashion. When I was in elementary school, my teacher, I forget her name, peered inside of my desk. It was one of those desks with the lids that lifted. She was appalled at my wretched state of being. Papers disheveled, torn, and wrinkled. Soft-covered workbooks were folded and torn. I think she was surprised, and disappointed, because I was a good student.
The house I lived in during high school was large and newly built, a source of pride for my family. It had 6 bedrooms and 2.5 bathrooms, marble-topped this-and-that and over priced furniture. I called it the museum because we weren't allowed to touch anything. My Mom hated my bedroom because she wanted to show off the house to visitors, and of the three children, I was the messiest. Mom always made me clean, and I vowed I'd never clean a day in my life as an adult, "I'll get a maid!" I proclaimed. Nonetheless, I heard "clean your room" as often as I heard "I love you." And my Mother really loves me.
I know I was difficult to live with in college. As an English major and self-proclaimed writer, I left paper trails throughout the common living areas because my bedroom was cluttered with clothes, accessories, childhood memorabilia and bulk furniture. Ashtrays were filled to the brim with stale cigarette butts. I could've been one of those embarrassed families on Clean House. I was on my way to graduating; moving up to Hoarders. Luckily my roommate was a coffee addict who would drink it pots at a time and clean several days a week.
For the record, she and I are still friends, and she says I have straightened up a bit, literally.
But just a bit.
I had to. I had a baby. When I was pregnant, I was petrified that I would trip over my mess while holding the baby.
Clothes are still on the floor. Often times they are separated by laundry loads, though. We can't afford a maid, as my teenage self would be disappointed to know. We do pay our next-door teenager to sit with our baby twice a month for an hour and a half so we can straighten up our house. Family also volunteers to come sit with the baby so we can get stuff done. Five month old babies require a lot of attention.
I'm also lucky to have a husband who lives in the 21st century. He definitely pulls his weight in housework. Honestly, he pulls some of mine too. We agreed if we were ever in the position to have only one working spouse, he would be the one to stay at home. He is just better at that stuff than me. And I am a career girl at heart.
Being a secret slob is a flaw. But I'm working on it.
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