My success is your failure

So...the Mom Exhibit. That was pretty fun, huh, to see another mom's unedited house?

Well, here's the problem. While I was totally willing to share images of the messes, I was too afraid to share successes because I didn't want to make anyone feel bad.

I got going and had moments where I was succeeding, when I stayed on top of the dishes for 24 hours, when I completely cleaned my bedroom (and it has stayed clean), when I vacuumed 2 weeks in a row, when I had a warm dinner on the table each night for an entire week.

I was judged by my mess

This morning, I woke up with a spark. As I washed the dishes, my mind raced, feeding the beast, growing it until I thought I would burst.

Recently, I was excluded from something. The part that hurt the most was that I was blind-sided. No one said a word to me. I was just cut out. I whole-heartedly believe it was because of my blog, because maybe I appear to have too much on my plate, like maybe more time at home would help me get my affairs in order. I don't know, really. I was going to ask. But, then I realized it would be in vain. #1. I didn't want anyone to think I was whining. #2. Do you really think anyone would honestly tell me the truth? No way.

So, to spare myself some respect, I sucked it up and said, I won't let it get me down.

I knew divulging so much about myself on this blog was risky. I knew there would be some consequences. I figured there'd be a few hoity-toity people that would think less of me.

I just didn't think it would be these people. I'm bummed that they didn't get what I'm trying to do here.

So, what am I doing here?

There is a mom culture in our society with silently-defined expectations. This culture measures our self-worth by the tidiness of our playrooms, shine on our kids' cheeks, promptness of our families to events, the capacity of our memories.

It's wrong. It's women being hard on themselves and hard on each other. It needs to stop.

The worth of a mom should be measured by her love for her kids. It's invisible to the eye and is manifested differently in every family. For some women, it means they have to work to earn enough money for their kids to live in a safe neighborhood. For others, it means they get up extra early in the morning to braid their daughter's hair.

I just want moms to compare themselves to themselves, not the chick down the street. You know your best. You know what you're capable of. You know how much you love your kids. And you, only you know what that looks like.

So, to anyone who may doubt my abilities or may think I have too much on my plate, I'm sorry, but you're wrong. Please don't judge me by my mess and my Zoloft prescription. I used them to prove that, by my own definition, I do have it all together and this is what that looks like for me.

Please, I beg you, don't fall victim to the naïve, ignorant standards of mom culture.

Secret to a clean house

There is one, right? A secret to a clean house?

I think most of us are sure that there is, indeed, a secret that we just haven't figured out. When my first baby turned one, I set out to discover that secret.

Image Source here

It started on the internet. I read blog after blog with all kinds of tips and tricks to keeping a clean house. I tried many with no lasting success. So, I got serious. I marched right into my tiny town library and checked out a book, "The Ultimate Career: The Art of Homemaking for Today," by the cutest little lady, Daryl Hoole.

I read that book and set my mind to follow through with Daryl's advice. My favorite of all her secrets? Clutter attracts clutter. (Read a great synopsis of her book here.)

But, I want to stop there with the cleaning advice, because really you all know I'm not qualified for or interested in cleaning advice.

I want to point out the true secret to a clean house.

iRony

I am a hypocrite.

But, I didn't mean to be. What I've done goes against everything I stand for.

It started out like this. The man bought me an iPhone 4s for Christmas. Best. present. ever. I wanted one so badly because of Siri. I needed an external brain to hold my memories so I didn't have to punch myself in the gut every time I forgot something.


But, ironically, the iPhone has done something unexpected, impacting my life so much more than Siri ever could.