The Cluttered House

I’ve always professed to be domestically challenged but the truth is that I could be domestically proficient if I so chose. I use choice in a loose manner here because if you are an artist, in whatever form that takes, your need to express it takes on more of a necessity (like breathing) rather than something you just like to do.

The problem is that no matter how you slice the pie there is only 24 hours in a day.

The breakdown for this working mom with small children who is finds art essential to their survival:

For this working mom the largest slice goes to work. This includes getting ready for work, getting the kids ready and off to daycare, the commute and work itself. Then the second shift starts, feeding and bathing the kids trying to spend a little play time with them before putting them to bed. After which are the dishes, the animals and the minimal house work to keep you out of complete filth. Finally, it’s time that you may have all to yourself. Which which I try to keep to an hour but always ends up being longer. That leaves about 4 ½ hours for sleep with the caveat that with an infant you are lucky if you able to get that much.

The weekend dynamic changes but with small children a majority of the work hours shift into the family obligations and a few more get shifted into the house (like laundry), but personal time pretty much remains the same.

At first spending all my free time on the house made me depressed and resentful of my family. But then when I stole a little time for myself the shame set in, embarrassed when anyone showed up unexpectedly. It was a horrible catch twenty two.

What about family help? Well as most know keeping after them to help ate up just as must time, if not more, as doing it yourself. Not really a trade off and more of a time suck than a time save and the added stress didn’t solve anything.

Miserable I had to have a talk with myself and I came to the conclusion that I only opinion that mattered was my own and my family’s.

So the next time you walk into a cluttered house where the coats aren't hung up, the table is loaded with mail and school papers and there is an obstacle course of toys, be kind. An artist guised as a working mother probably lives there.