cleaning house

I took the kids on a spur-of-the moment trip to Florida to visit family. We had a great time and I will post some pictures soon. But one thing struck me, especially coming back home: every house we visited there was so clean. I mean spotless. And we did some drop-ins too, so it's not like they all knew we were coming. If you were to drop in on my house it could be scary. In fact even if I know you're coming it could be scary. I've had a dear friend politely not notice the petrified pb&j on the living room floor, and I've had a new acquaintance come in and say, "oh, are you moving?". I like to say that you know we're good friends when you can see my house messy and I don't want to cry.

I really REALLY like a beautiful house. It makes me very happy. But sadly right now it comes after lots of other things that also make me happy - playing with my kids, being on the go, making stuff. And these kids, they just come with so. much. stuff. And they seem to shed stuff wherever they go.

Before we had kids, we had a great system. We would invite people over on a regular basis, and that would spur us to keep things fairly pulled together. You really don't have to clean as much, since most adults don't go around touching things with sticky fingers.

But with kids - oh, the stuff. And the distractions. If I can get everyone dressed and fed and happy and active and fed again and cleaned and rested and stimulated and fed again and washed and put to bed, I think I'm doing ok. The kitchen gets cleaned, but things like dusting? ha.

I've got to find a way to figure this out. My dining room is the biggest challenge, since now with the two kiddos it doubles as my studio space. And of course it is the first thing you see when you come in the house. And I hate the chairs in there. I came home inspired and cleaned away the ghosts of cookie parties past. (Why must kids touch everything?) I secretly hoped to ruin the finish so I could justify replacing them. They are just a trilogy of bad: ugly, uncomfortable, unwieldily. They came with our big round table (which I do like) so I thought I would recover the fabric, which is an awful shade of vermillion (ick) with flecks of (gag) turquoise. But then factor in uncomfortable, and what is the point? My feet don't touch the floor when I sit in these chairs. I know I have short legs but this is ridiculous. I have to put a pillow behind my back like a little old lady. And there must be 27 of the damn things.

It's amazing what you can get used to when you look at something every day. But really, these must go.

Since it is just off the front entry, the dining room also functions as sort of a drop zone for coming and going. Roman's carseat, Stella's school stuff, whatever we had in our hands when we came in and had to quickly drop to help one of the kids. Sigh.

What we really need is studio space for me, and a better drop zone solution. But we like the rest of the  house and are not in a hurry to move. So this might have to be my new project. Right after I finish sewing and painting.

And so I tell myself: None of those houses in Florida had kids living in them. Or art studios. And everyone who lives in this house - no matter its state - is healthy and happy.

But I am totally getting a housekeeper.