I must confess: I’m not the tidiest person. It’s something that has always made me feel a bit embarrassed, especially since society seems to hold women to a higher standard of cleanliness than men. Back in college, no one batted an eye at the state of a guy’s messy room, overflowing with laundry and strewn papers. Visiting friends would simply navigate through the chaos as if it were part of the ambiance. But for girls, there’s an unspoken expectation that our spaces should be inviting and orderly. If a girl’s room is a mess, people might think, “What’s going on with her?”
Traditionally, women are seen as the custodians of the home, tasked with creating warm, welcoming environments where friends can come, relax, and enjoy a cup of tea. Somehow, though, I missed that memo. In my single days, my home was often a reflection of my chaotic inner world—dishes would languish in the sink for days, and I rarely vacuumed. Cleaning was more of a last-minute sprint when visitors were on the way, and I’d transform into a whirlwind, desperately scrubbing surfaces and shoving clutter out of sight.
But then I had children, and it was as if my home had fallen into a chaotic abyss. It’s almost comical how someone like me, who struggled to maintain a one-person household, suddenly had to manage the mess of four, two of whom are essentially walking tornadoes. Every time they move, they seem to leave a trail of chaos behind. Sand from their shoes carpets the hall, clothes are shed in a haphazard fashion, and crumbs scatter like confetti after snack time. The laundry piles up like an insurmountable mountain, and the dishes? Let’s just say they could rival the Great Wall of China in height.
But here’s the silver lining: I’ve improved my tidiness since becoming a mom. Back in my single days, I would rate myself a 4 on a scale of 1 to 10 for tidiness. Now, as a mom, I’m still a 4, but the context has changed. I’ve learned that a 4 on the Mom Tidiness Scale is markedly more organized than a 4 on the Single Person Scale. The mess simply cannot be ignored. I’ve developed a sort of aversion therapy: if I don’t tackle the dishes promptly, they only multiply. I make it a point to clear out backpacks and diaper bags as soon as they enter the house because tomorrow’s mess will only be more daunting if I don’t. Laundry? I mostly keep up with it now. If I had shown this level of commitment when I lived alone, my home would have been immaculate.
Evenings still find me exhausted, collapsing in front of the TV while the super-clean moms meticulously gather tiny paper scraps from craft time. Yet, at least I can say my home is not dirty. I hold out hope that when my kids are grown and out of the house, my newfound tidiness will stick with me. Who knows? Maybe I’ll even reach the pinnacle of the Empty Nest Tidiness Scale and become the cleanest resident in the nursing home.
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