Cleaning With Kids

I think one of the biggest challenges that stay at home moms face is the thought that since we are home and "not working" our houses should look immaculate all the time. For me this is nonsense and in no way possible. Plain and simple. But, while I don't mind a smudge here and there and will admit that there are rooms (like my dining/craft room) that fall to the wayside, it does bother me that my house doesn't look like a page out of a magazine. Isn't that nuts? I mean, I know in my head that a) I am very pregnant and don't have the stamina to clean 24/7, b) I have a home daycare AND lots of pets, and c) we live here!

Mrs. Meyers said that you need to find a balance between perfection and lived in and I am finding myself chanting those words as I go throughout the day. Those magazine photos definitely don't look homey and lived in for the most part. And while they are pretty, you know the kids weren't allowed to jump on the beds or eat PB & J on the couch, and forget about having animals!

I just read this poem today and am going to print it out and put it on the fridge since that is where I stress about the condition of my house the most. Definitely a good reminder about what is more important at the end of the day!

Mother, oh Mother, come shake out your cloth, 

Empty the dustpan, poison the moth, 

Hang out the washing and butter the bread, Sew on a button and make up a bed. 

Where is the mother whose house is so shocking? 

She’s up in the nursery, blissfully rocking.

Oh, I’ve grown shiftless as Little Boy Blue 

(Lullaby, rockaby, lullaby loo). 

Dishes are waiting and bills are past due 

(Pat-a-cake, darling, and peek, peekaboo). 

The shopping’s not done and there’s nothing for stew 

And out in the yard there’s a hullabaloo 

But I’m playing Kanga and this is my Roo. 

Look! Aren’t her eyes the most wonderful hue? 

(Lullaby, rockaby, lullaby loo). 

The cleaning and scrubbing will wait till tomorrow, 

For children grow up, as I’ve learned to my sorrow. 

So quiet down, cobwebs. 

Dust go to sleep. 

I’m rocking my baby and babies don’t keep.
                            by Ruth Hulburt Hamilton