Guilt

I feel guilty that my house isn't clean. I stay at home. I should have time to do all of the things that are necessary to keep my house sparkly clean. I mean, I'm here practically 24 hours a day 6 days a week. What am I doing with my time? Sitting around, wasting time. This stay-at-home mom gig worked out well, didn't it?

I imagine that this is what everyone thinks when they walk into my house, my husband included.

Some people might think that, but frankly, it's insane. I'm entertaining/educating/corralling Goose. I'm feeding/diapering/nurturing Baby Boy. I'm cooking. I'm washing dishes. I'm making sure we never run out of anything. Ever. I'm doing at least 5 loads of laundry each week. I'm going to school one night each week. I'm reading and writing for class. I'm trying to de-stress, declutter, de-something.

I feel guilty that things aren't organized. That clothes aren't always put away. That Goose can't write her name yet (random, I know, but that's how guilt works sometimes).

When am I supposed to organize things? Am I meant to trade time with my children or my husband to make things look "pretty"? Is it my responsibility to pick up everyone's clothes? Every sock and shirt and pair of pants that don't make it quite to the hamper, or even near it... dear husband...

And Goose writing her name? She's 2! I'm just insane. She has plenty of time to figure out how to write her name. She can spell it. Good enough for me. For now.

So now I'm working on letting go of the guilt. My house is not perfect. But my children are happy and relatively clean most of the time. And me, well, I'm working on being happy with it. Working on letting go and being at peace with the temporary, often overwhelming chaos while our children are little and so demanding. Soon, long before I am ready, they will be big and they will not need us as much in the same ways.

I am a good wife. I am a good mother.

Most of the time.