Oh my gosh, don’t
worry about it!
It’s my immediate response when a fellow mom apologizes for
the state of her house or the layer of grime in her car. I play along. I swear, with a chuckle, I’m not judging. I
go on about what terrible shape my house is in…
But honestly, fellow mom? I totally am. I am judging you. I am stink-eyeing your
baseboards and dying to see if you have that weird produce gunk at the bottom
of your fridge. But not for the reason
you might think. It really has nothing
to do with you.
I love the blog finding
joy. In it Rachel Martin ardently
argues that we as mothers need to stop apologizing for the dishes in our sinks
and the Legos on our family room floors. Instead, we should work together to reestablish the pre-Facebook community
of mothers that supported one another on their couches and in their kitchens.
Thinking that we fall anywhere short of Pinterest-perfection
leaves us feeling like losers and terribly alone. I have avoided participating
in most forms of social media because I already suffer enough by comparison―I don’t need to access it on my laptop and handheld device.
I’ve been suffering my whole life. I was judging book-covering materials in
elementary school, staring into lockers to admire others’ organizers in high
school, and sweeping my eyes into the corners of dorm rooms in college. Now, whenever
I step into someone else’s house I’m hyper-vigilant.
I judge the cleanliness of your floors and the tidiness of
your kitchen counters. Do you find the time to wipe down your baseboards? If
I’m really being honest with myself, my judgy-ness (it’s a word) is grounded in
making myself feel superior. I am
laser-focused on your house because it makes me feel less like a failure.
<phew> Her
perfectly layered knickknacks need a good dusting...I’m not a hopeless slob
that’s going to raise the smelly kid in school.
It’s an unfortunate female trait I had long before I had
kids. Being super-judgmental has been a
coping mechanism since bodysuits were cool and I was too timid to snap my tops
on. Why do women do this to one
another? Why do we have to mock and
judge each other? Reading the comments
to any online parenting article makes me want to curl in a ball and eat an
entire bag of Cheetos.
I attack housework the same way I did writing papers in
college. I was deeply concerned with how
my professors viewed me. I wanted to be
the top student who always delivered exemplary work. I’d set up everything perfectly on my
desk...then I’d discover the Popstars marathon playing all Saturday
afternoon. (Please don’t deny watching
it―that cheapens the experience for all of us.) Then I’d be up all night, sick to my stomach, throwing together crap and
cursing my procrastination.
I want to have the spotless house that I am proud of and
unafraid to welcome surprise guests into. But Pinning homemade cleaners and cabinet-organization-schemes is
sometimes all I do. I spray
environment-killing chemicals all over the place and cause a frying pan landslide
every time I need to sauté something.
Now my husband’s return from work or my mother-in-law coming for dinner
is my deadline and I’m sick to my stomach and cursing the end of nap-time.
I was taking the compulsory and entertaining tour of a
friends’ new home. The new homeowner was
discussing how filthy the last homeowner had been. She told me with great disgust how there were
cobwebs all through the basement. I
could feel my face warming. I
immediately began picturing the cobwebs on full display in my basement, on the
front hall light and twinkling in the sun on both kids’ bedroom blinds.
Oh, haha, I bet I have
a bunch of those myself…
No! Not like hers! You wouldn’t live like that!
Instead of being hurt or stressed, her comments actually made
me feel so much better. She didn’t think
of me as being dirty like the last owner of her home. She couldn’t fathom I could be so negligent
as a mom and Chief COH (Cleaner-of-House). That’s what mattered to me: that
a fellow mom had faith I wasn’t Pig Pen.
I don’t really
care if you have figured out how to keep your bathroom towels fluffy with a
house full of kids. I don’t actually mind that suspicious stain on
the hall rug. Why do I judge? Because I am afraid I won’t measure up to
you. All we really want is to be liked
and I have somehow attached having a clean home with being accepted.
Rachel Martin is right. I need to stop torturing myself by comparison. My friend with the sparkling house that
always looks perfectly put together? She
truly believes me better-than-cobweb-lady. And the next time she comes to my house? I’m not apologizing for the
tray under the water dispenser on the fridge. But I am asking her how the hell she gets her's so clean.
-Elizabeth
-Elizabeth
No comments:
Post a Comment