Confessions of a Real Life Slob

Something occurred to me the other day, which will be no surprise to those who know me. In an BFO (Blinding Flash of Obviousness), I realized this: I am a slob.

For years I have had this nasty, creeping feeling, but I was too repulsed to acknowledge it. Instead, I have simply been “too busy” to clean up after myself. Too busy to put away my coffee mugs, to make my bed, to put away the clothes that I shed at the foot of my bed at the end of each day. I told myself that between work, school and the kids, life was just too hectic to stay neat and organized. Later, when I graduated, it was the garden and work and the kids. Then the holidays, then taking on the survival of my organization.

I would love to put the blame at someone else’s feet. I would desperately, dearly love to do this. I could try to reach back and put it on my parents, or on the unattainable standards set by the media, or some other farcical explanation, but what it really comes down to is this: I left that dirty plate on the table, sprayed like scatter shot with jelly and toast crumbs. I made that pile of half clean/ but also somewhat dirty clothes at the foot of the bed that is now threatening to take over the bed and push us all out. I have strewn half-full coffee mugs throughout the condo and it was me who left a pile of shoe castoffs by the front door.

This realization came into even sharper focus recently when I announced to Jay that he MUST clean his room. His toys were everywhere, veritable trip hazards interspersed with little sharp and pointy things just waiting to get implanted in the bottom of our feet. His clothes were in big piles near his dresser, castoffs from indecision and three year old capriciousness. His books were in large piles and spilling over. As I surveyed the mess and shook my head disapprovingly, I said, “Jay, you need to clean this room right now.” Jay looked me squarely in the eye and said, “And then we’ll clean YOUR room, Mama?”

It was a moment a truth.

I reeled and sputtered as I tried to figure out how to respond. I am sure whatever I said it came out as defensive and lame. Then I did what any closeted slob would do: I told him my room was not his concern and that he needed work on his room, thank you VERY much.

...Then I skulked off to clean my room.

I have a long way to go, and probably a few more moments of truth lay ahead, but I guess acknowledgement is the first step on this road to less slobbishness. The next step is not leaving a trail of socks, wet towels and apple cores behind me.