Letting Go

Having four kids is not really conducive with being a perfectionist. I didn't realize this until after I already had four kids, of course, but it's glaringly obvious now.

In the prekid era, I kept a perfectly clean house. I had time to scrapbook my wedding and honeymoon and those whole 3 months before I got pregnant (most of which I spend in a violent state of seasickish nausea). I did my hair every day. I applied makeup! My clothes were fashionable and coordinated. And I cooked meals that didn't come in jars, cans, or boxes.

I was able to keep up the illusion of perfection through kids 1 and 2. Kid 3 started putting a strain on the mirage as my older kids started homeschooling and I added even more to my plate. Still, I kept house militantly, cooked most of the time, did my hair and makeup at least 50% of the time, and most of my clothes looked decent.

Fast forward a few years, and here I am. I do my hair once a week, at most. Makeup? Never. Lip gloss should count. My clothes are the same ones I have had since high school. Lucky for me, they are back in fashion. Oh, my jeans are new...Old Navy clearance, $3 a pair. I feel rich in those pants. But I digress. My house is semi-clean. Emphasis on the semi. I cook dinners most of the time. The same dinners, in rotation, every week. It's cheaper that way. Sometimes I get REALLY crazy and through in a Costco pizza.

My point is, perfection, for me, is gone with the wind. My kids are magnetically attracted to clean rooms, so whatever I clean is usually destroyed within 30 minutes. That's why I clean at night after they go to bed. I don't have time to fuss with niceties like ironing, blowdrying my hair, or color coordinating my kids. Homeschooling is always an adventure...some days it's 2 hours (like it's supposed to be), and some days we're lucky to get 30 minutes in before the kids vacate their bodies. Thank God they are still young.

It's been a long journey, learning to let things go. I still catch myself being insane sometimes. But I'm getting better about remembering that I'll have a clean house for decades after my kids are grown. I'll have decades to be fashionable and put together. I'll have decades to get an education and pursue a career.

But I only have a decade AT MOST to enjoy my kids. Just a few more years, and there won't be any more grubby hugs and sticky kisses. There won't be any more kids crawling into bed with me. There won't be any more baby smell, teeth brushing marathons, holding hands in the parking lot, or snuggling on the couch. At least not until the grandkids show up.

And when I remember this, I can let the other stuff go. I've only got this blip in time to love on my kids, and I'm taking it. As long as the health inspectors don't condemn our house, I figure the house is clean enough. I've got better things to do.

PS As I write this, I have a toddler sound asleep in my lap, drooling on my arm. I love my kids. If I had it to do over, knowing then what I know now, I wouldn't change a thing. Except, maybe I wouldn't have bought so many baby clothes and all that equipment, since they don't need it. :)