A rising trend amongst millennial moms is the illustrious “play date”. I love it. We do it. I mean, hey why not, they’re fun, right?
The kids get to play. Moms get a break (insert fake laugh). Change of scenery. Win-win. The kiddos and I usually have one play date per week whether we meet at a friend’s house or another location. Recently, we went to a friend’s house for said play date. I dressed the kids in picture-worthy outfits; packed the bag with diapers and lunch.
As we strolled through the entryway, my friend blurts out, “HI! Oh my god, the house is so bad, I’m so sorry.”
I honestly didn’t even look around to survey the mess before my automatic Stepford wife response revealed, “Girl please, my house is so much worse. You wouldn’t believe it.”
And this was true. I knew it was true. It had to be true. I hadn’t vacuumed in days. There were clean dishes in the dishwasher. Dirty dishes in the sink. My “Monica closets” were near explosion because I kept cramming more and more stuff in them.
As our play date ensued, we trashed her house with crumbs, toys, dress up clothes, and quite possibly our sanity. I did begin to notice some clutter. You know…the kind that piles up in the corner of the dining room table or the shelves above the computer.
But, you know what? I didn’t care. Because my house was in the exact same state of disarray.
A few days later, a different friend came to my house for a play date. Before I could hold myself back, the words came pouring out of my mouth, “Oh my god, the house is so bad. I’m so sorry.”
And my friend had the same response as I did the previous week, “Girl please, my house is so much worse. I PROMISE.”
Then it hit me.
WHAT are we all apologizing for?
For losing the cleanest house award?
For not putting away every delivery from Prime?
For not getting all of the daily laundry put away?
With 4 people in my house and 2 dogs that shed more than a Pottery Barn sherpa blanket, my house gets dirty y’all. Dirty. The kind of dirty that sometimes takes a good month to sort through before I emerge from the wreckage. As soon as I get one area clean, two more take its place. I always tell myself—THIS is the week I get life under control.
And you know what? That still hasn’t happened.
Instead, I leave the dishes till after bedtime. I sit down on the floor for puzzles. I put off vacuuming and we still roll on the floor engaged in tickle fights. The cleaning will always be there. But the memories with my littles will not.
So, I’m going to stop apologizing for my dirty house. Because I am choosing to just live in my dirty house.
At our next play date, I know my friend will politely get on the offense about her messy playroom. Instead of reassuring her my house is worse I am simply going to applaud and tell her she’s just being a good mom. It’s okay to choose life over the cleaning. It’s okay to choose later. It’s okay to say I am doing my best. And that is enough.