As the youngest child in my family, I had the privilege of occupying a big bedroom all to myself after all my older siblings had gotten married and left the nest. I enjoyed this for a few years until I too got married. I absolutely loved it – the space, the privacy, the peace and quiet of my own bedroom. I kept it neat—not perfect—just clean and neat. My bed was always made. My books were organized according to height on the wall shelf. I had a nice palm plant beside my keyboard. The wooden floor was clean and shiny, the windows had curtains of my choice, my mementos were in the cabinet. My desktop (the tabletop) was decorated with my tacky artwork. My mess was contained or hidden in drawers and boxes.
Gone are those days. Today, if I could clean even one section of the house here and there, I’d consider it an accomplishment. And if it stayed that way for more than three days, I’d say what a surprise!
Sometimes I feel like a failure at housekeeping. When will our house ever be neat and tidy, not like a playground or a giant hamper? Then I ask myself, Would you rather have peace and quiet, a place for everything and everything in its place? OR, traffic in the hallways, footsteps up and down the stairs, bursts of laughter, chatter, chatter and more chatter?
Come to think of it, when my house becomes spic and span for any prolonged time, that might well mean I am retired and my children have moved to their own places…. Nahh, I’m not excited about that.
A messy house is sometimes a happier house. Ours is.