Growing up I can’t recall one time I got in trouble for not cleaning my room. I do remember getting in trouble for rearranging it at 10 p.m.

My older brother would pay me $5 a week to clean his room. Let me tell you, I was sorely under paid . I can say with great certainty, my brother’s room had a lingering smell of dirty socks, mildew and spoiled food every time I cleaned. But I loved cleaning, and getting paid, and so I did it. Plus, during this stage of his life, my brother’s saving account was wadded up $20s thrown about randomly in his room. If I happened upon one (or two, or three) I helped myself to a tip. 😉

In college, I lived with two extremely messy not-so-neat roommates. Thankfully, I did not live with them at the same time, otherwise I’m sure neither of them would talk to me today because I would have been so mad all the time. Well, actually, only one of them still talks to me…. Perhaps the other one couldn’t stand that I would start putting her clothes away, rearranging her side of the dorm room, or organizing all her bathroom stuff. Without asking.

Once I got married, I think most of Jonathan and my first “fights” were about the state of our condo. Jonathan left me with the impression that he was a neat freak when we were dating. Any messes I did encounter, I promptly blamed on his roommates. Aww, love really is blind. But, after the honeymoon was over, I had the horror of discovering that Jonathan isn’t a neat freak. He’s one of those balanced people. You know the ones; they can live in complete order or complete chaos and still manage to function. I am not one of those people.

Then, in November 2007, total chaos came into my life in the form of my sweet (although some times trying) Julia. Quickly I started realizing that children produce more mess than any other roommate I’ve ever known including my amazing husband. And it drives me a little bonkers. I like order, I like clean, I like perfection. Chaos throws me into a weird funk, that results in a bad mood, lack of concentration and a feeling of helplessness.

Yet, slowly I’ve come to terms with chaos. While I don’t do my best with total dysfunction, I’m at a point where I don’t curl up in a corner crying because the bed hasn’t been made in two weeks days. I’d like to say, I’ve even gotten to the point that my kitchen can look like this:

And my living room like this:

And still I manage to survive. And even smile. Sorta.