“You don’t have kids with the intent of retaining a clean house. Kids are sources of chaos and disorder. Get over that fact. Where does that disorder come from? It’s because they are experimenting with their environment. Everything is new to them.”
— Neil deGrasse Tyson
When I was younger, I had a vision for the way my home would look when I was an adult.
It would look like something from a Michael Mann film — all chrome and steel with clean lines and large windows. And it would be pristine. There would be nothing out of place.
I never gave much thought to who else would live there with me or who would actually clean it. After all, I rarely saw those characters pick up a Swiffer and dust all those black and silver surfaces. I just know how I wanted it to look.
My actual adult life is far removed from that vision. I live with three other people and don’t have the means to hire someone to keep the house spotless.
In other words, I live in a house where real life happens.
As I write this, a large portion of my nicely renovated living room is consumed by a play tent and tunnel. Every day is full of Sisyphean tasks like picking up half-empty drink tumblers, stuffed animals, and blankets. So many blankets.
I’ve always enjoyed the process of organizing and feel very strongly that everything has a place. I don’t have general anxiety, but when things are put away, I am more serene.
Something I’ve noticed is that whenever I feel stressed or that I’m losing control in some area, my instinct is to straighten up. That’s my method of coping and releasing the pent-up emotions.
I have a vision of a home in perfect order, the way it is when it’s staged for an open house. But that’s not reality. Moreover, what does a clean (or messy) truly say about me as a person? Absolutely nothing.
I need to remind myself that I’m not a museum curator, I’m a father twice over with a career and responsibilities. Our lives will not crumble if that cup stays on the table until tomorrow or the Legos aren’t packed away (provided I don’t step on one). A messy house reflects the fact that four people live there. Nothing more.
In fact, the only thing that having a pristine home will do for my children is to make them petrified of making a mess rather than playing freely. They will live in a state of fear and worry that something is out of place. In Catharina Ingelman-Sundberg’s The Little Old Lady Who Broke All the Rules, one character says, “Better to have a messy home and happy children.”
My kids have a fairly large gap in age, so while the 11-year-old is in the midst of the evolutionary process in which teenagers grow a screen in front of their face, there’s still a not-yet five-year-old that has a toy kitchen and loves to color.
Magnets don’t stick to the front of our refrigerator, so instead we’ve been hanging her artwork in the dining room. It started with a couple, but they’re continuing to envelop more and more of the wall.
The other day, when I told my daughter that we’d have to take down her gallery soon, she asked why. I didn’t really have a reason. I asked myself the same thing. We want to re-do that room anyway — I hate the current wall color — so why am I so eager to rip it all down?
They’re still up and will remain so for the foreseeable future.
There is a limit, of course. It’s not anarchy. We have rules and they have responsibilities. We don’t allow Play-Doh or kinetic sand in rooms where there is carpet and we do our best to have them clean up after themselves.
The older one is tasked with setting and clearing the table, as well as putting away the clean dishes. Her sister doesn’t have any chores yet, but she is expected to empty anything left on her plate in the trash and then place the plate in the sink to be washed. We try to keep her toys relegated to the playroom, but they inevitably migrate into the main parts of the living room.
So what? They live there just like I do. I’ve been known to leave my laptop and book on the table for hours at a time, so I’m no better. Those toys aren’t growing mold or causing damage. A house is to be lived in, not photographed for a magazine spread or idealized for Instagram. We’re raising children in the real world, not filming an episode of Cribs.
Real life is messy and unorganized.
Maybe that’s why Michael Mann has never made a kids movie.
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Christopher Pierznik is the worst-selling author of nine books. Check out more of his writing at his own site. His work has appeared on XXL, Cuepoint, Business Insider, The Cauldron, Fatherly, Hip Hop Golden Age, and many more. Connect with him on Facebook.
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This post was previously published on medium.com.
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From The Good Men Project on Medium
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