Perfection

Who says this perfection thing is tough? I think we had a perfect day yesterday and we weren't even trying. We started out at the pumpkin patch, which was all that a pumpkin patch should be and then some. I won't bore you with the details, but will instead post equally boring pictures (unless you love my children as much as I do and then you will be as enthralled as I am by these pictures) that will suffice to cover our time at the pumpkin patch. We went early, left before it got too hot, and stopped at a convenience store for treats on the way home. Perfect, right? Well, the kids thought so anyway.

Veevs had a birthday party to go to (fairy-themed), and I went along. We had to leave a bit early so we could make it to her soccer game. Dad and the boys met us there and after we shoved a bag full of pretzels into Spe's hands he was as good as gold throughout the entire game. Veevs hustled, waved, and cried when she was pushed over--all the drama you expect from a soccer game.

We spent a lovely evening together, and I even took a little catnap (I know, you don't think I'm capable of just a "little" catnap, but I am. Sometimes.). Rhett bathed the kids, we put them to bed, and Rhett started his homework and I read a book. Really, although this day sounds perfectly boring it really was so relaxing and fun. I don't know why people think perfection is so difficult.

Oh, wait, yes I do. Because at about 11:00 Wristy woke up and started coughing and his coughing started him barfing and he threw up all over his sheets and himself and his blanket. Rhett bathed him (again) and I had to hit the Wal-Mart for cough medicine (Hey, I may not be perfect but I'm not going to hell for buying medicine on Sunday! I believe I barely made the purchase on the Saturday side of midnight. Phew!)

Need I say more? I can now say with certainty that there's no such thing as the perfect day. There's just not enough good vibes to last twenty-four hours. If your day goes well in the morning, you might as well just lose your temper in the afternoon to forestall late night puking. Seriously, don't try to be perfect. It's not worth the vomit!

All these years I've been lied to . . .

Okay, I finally figured it out. All these years people have been lying to me. First my mom, and now Rhett. You know how when you get your house perfectly spotless, people say things like, "Doesn't it feel great to have a clean house?" or "This is the way a house should look!" But you know what? Those are lies.

First, it doesn't feel great to have a clean house, because you know the second (and I really mean nanosecond) that you have to actually live in your house, it will suddenly be filthy again. Like in twenty minutes! So when you have a clean house, it's actually the worst position to be in, because there's nowhere to go but down from there. And what a depressing downward spiral it is.

Second, a house shouldn't look that way. A HOTEL should look that way because no one lives in it for real. A MODEL HOME should look that way because no one is actually blow-drying their hair in it, or spraying hairspray on the mirror. But a real house, honestly, just likes to be dirty. So I've been expending all this energy and time trying to make my house be something it's not (hmmm, there's an interesting parallel here, and perhaps connection, between this and my mom and my husband trying to get me to be more tidy).

I'm not filthy by nature. I'll clean it up at some point. I don't like to live in squalor and I don't like my toilets to be dirty. But, I don't put everything I touch away immediately (this is where Rhett and I differ). I have piles (of clothes, of paperwork, of stuff to take downstairs, of stuff to take upstairs). But my piles aren't like the ones you see on Oprah where you only have little paths that lead from room to room surrounded by giant piles of who knows what. My piles are little. Really. And they get taken care of eventually. Usually.

I try really hard to overcome my natural untidiness. I even have a laminated chore chart that I'm supposed to cross off each day, wipe it clean it that night, and then recross off the same chores the next day. Here's the daily list: Help Veevs with her chores (she also has a laminated chore chart), Help Spe with his chores (again, another laminated chore chart), Dress and feed Wristy (I DO remember to feed him, but I like to be able to cross things off the list), Read scriptures, Make bed, Tidy up my room, Tidy up Wristy's room, Tidy up the living rooms (of which there are three!), Unload the dishwasher, Load the dishwasher, Clean the kitchen, Do a load of laundry, Tidy up the bathrooms (again, three!), Tidy up the toy room, and Make Dinner. Don't even get me started on the chores I do once a week. Today I had to dust the house and vacuum the downstairs. I'm making a good effort, right?

But, I realized today as I was cleaning that I was fighting the Vietnam War of house cleaning. Because no matter how many times I tidy up the living room, my kids will drag more toys into it. And there we are, back at the 16th Parallel North. So for the rest of the afternoon, I'm going to grab a book, sit on my couch, and let my house enjoy itself. And you know what? I'm not even going to put the book away when I'm done.