Serenity Now

I want my house back. My home has been taken over by short, inconsiderate people! Their (and you know who I mean) shit is everywhere, everywhere! And as fast as it gets put away, it’s back out again – on the floor, the kitchen table, MY BED! I fantasize about filling huge black leaf bags with anything I find in my path from socks and flip flops to game pieces and tea party paraphernalia. I hate the mess and I think it is partly because I just hate it and partly because this house is my everywhere – where I spend my waking hours and sleeping hours, it’s where I live and where I “work.” I haven’t an office, a cubicle or mere square foot to call my own. All of the space in my life is shared. Sharing can be overrated.

I am forever trying to control the relentless spreading of stuff. I have created a system for the art projects that come home, I just bought a shoe organizer to control the heaping pile of footwear at the back door. I have worked and re-worked the closets to maximize efficiency and usefulness. It’s a losing battle. What’s the prayer they use in Alcoholics Anonymous…the serenity prayer? Serene is a feeling I don’t identify with these days. How can a person be serene in a mess? Impossible. Is acceptance the ideal? Unlikely.

And really, I’m not even a super neat person. I have my own piles on the counters and the dining room table is where my projects land, my carnival volunteer junk is stacked up on the desk downstairs, but it’s mine and I will deal with it. The kids have no plans to deal with the stuff they leave lying around. I know that’s unfair, a double standard, but… c’mon, I just want our home to be a sanctuary for ALL of us and if my children could just hit one of the conveniently located toy baskets or the shoe cubby, I’d be so grateful.

I feel good when things are in order. That’s likely why when I’m mad, I clean – wash dishes, scrub the kitchen floor, scoop up the wreckage with the kind of vigor only anger can fuel. It calms me to see my ugly, dated countertops free of dishes, notes, markers, Barbies, army guys, school work, lice notices, junk mail... It relaxes me to have empty laundry baskets. I can be content when things are tidy; I don’t even ask for clean, just tidy. I am something closer to serene and open to sharing again with the people who are permanently in my space.