There’s a sweet little
poem that periodically makes the rounds on Facebook—usually when a fresh crop
of babies arrive. You’ve probably read it, maybe you have even posted it? It
goes like this:
Where is the mother
whose house is so shocking?
She’s up in the nursery,
blissfully rocking.
The cleaning and
scrubbing can wait till tomorrow,
But children grow up, as
I’ve learned to my sorrow.
So quiet down cobwebs;
dust go to sleep!
I’m rocking my baby and
babies don’t keep.
I have read this time
and time again, and always I nod my head. Yes, I say, how true--that a baby is
for a moment, a precious moment, and then she is no longer a baby. She is a
child, then an adult. Then she is gone. You will never hold her under your chin
again. If you miss this moment now, you will miss it forever. How, in the face
of this awesome and heartrending truth can I justify putting her down
to—vacuum, dust, scour, cook, etc. etc.
This sentiment was
echoed recently when Pope Francis encouraged parents to “waste time” with our
children. Forget, for a moment, the to-do list, the “musts” and “shoulds.” Take
a moment to gaze into your child’s eyes. To answer the 557th
question. To read a story. To run through a sprinkler. “Waste” time with your
children—or rather spend time with them, even when no measurable result is achieved.
This is, of course, the “better part” that Mary chose when Martha was so busy
doing…housework.
But—
But—
But—I have noticed
something troubling. I have noticed that, in my own life, I frequently use this
very argument to justify my (dare I say it?) laziness in regards to
housekeeping. Going back to our little poem. It seems to me that the sentiment
contained within its lines has at least a hint of this idea: “I am an
enlightened, modern woman. And though I might embrace the noble title of Mother,
I absolutely reject the identity of Housewife. Mothering is a noble pursuit.
Housework is—not. Not valuable, not empowering.”
Housework, we say to
ourselves, might be necessary--but then again, it might not be necessary. We
can, after all, live with dust-bunnies! We might even begin to feel a certain
affection for dust-bunnies—especially if we consider them tangible proof that
*we* are good mothers who truly love our children—unlike those other women who
ignore their baby and (gasp!) get out the vacuum.
There are days when I
ignore the housework. On these days I like to quote our little poem to myself. “I’m
spending time with my precious babies,” I tell myself “I don’t have time to
dust. Or do laundry.” But—in reality—more often than not I am *not* spending quality
time with my children. More often than not I am online.
And what am I doing
online? And this is the funny part. I am usually on home-design blogs. And I
find this highly ironic.
Because, even if I don’t
want to do laundry/dust/sweep/cook/etc.
I *do* want—desperately--to create for my family a warm, beautiful,
welcoming home. So I sit in my cluttered, dusty rooms staring at a screen,
searching, searching—for the perfect toy (handmade, aesthetically pleasing,
developmentally appropriate), or the right rug/chair/wallpaper… in order to
make my house feel like home. And what’s funny is that I am ignoring my
children AND my home in order to BUY STUFF. And this is, to put it mildly, not
right.
Because more stuff won't make me feel more at home—obviously, right? But it is not so obvious to me, on those
Pinterest days, on those DesignSponge days, on those Apartment Therapy days.
Count on the immortal
Cheryl Mendelson to speak some sense into the situation:
“It is not in goods
that the contemporary household is poor,” she writes, “but in comfort and
care.”
Yes! That’s what I want—“comfort and care!” And again:
“Many people lead
deprived lives in houses filled with material luxury.”
Deprived lives! How can this be true?
Because order and
beauty, comfort and care, calmness, peace and a sense of belonging are what we
want, what comes to mind when we think of HOME. And we don’t get these things
by purchasing more—things! But we *can* get these things, argues Mendelson, by
practicing good housekeeping.
For “housekeeping
creates cleanliness, order, regularity, beauty, the conditions for health and
safety, and a good place to do and feel all the things you wish and need to do
and feel in your home. …it is your housekeeping that makes your home alive,
that turns it into a small society in its own right, a vital place with its own
ways and rhythms, the place where you can be more yourself that you can be
anywhere else.”
This is a high claim for
housekeeping! And if this statement is true then something about our little
poem is radically untrue. For the poem seems to suggest that if we are paying
proper attention to those we love then we will not be *able* to take care of
our home. “Leave me alone, I’m rocking my baby.” We EITHER gaze into the
perfect face our precious one OR—we vacuum.
I am NOT saying that—at
certain times and seasons—standards in housekeeping won’t suffer. The weeks
after the arrival of a new baby, times of illness and transition. When there
are many small children in a home it is impossible to finish cleaning the
house. But the rhythm, the consistency, matter. And the children learn—sooner
that I would have thought possible—to value order and cleanliness. Already my
daughter—just four years old—has begun to appreciate neatness and beauty. She
“makes” her bed (almost) every day. She takes joy in setting the table—complete
with freshly picked flowers in a vase. She understands something that many of
us educated, liberated women have forgotten: that housekeeping is not
demeaning. It is not menial, not the work of a slave or a drudge. It is a joy,
a tangible, concrete way that we can bring beauty into the world, a way to show
love for those in our care. My daughter is beginning to understand about her
home what I once learned about my own mother and her home:
“Her affection was in
the soft sofa cushions, clean linens, and good meals; her memory in
well-stocked storeroom cabinets and the pantry; her intelligence in the order
and healthfulness of her home; her good humor in its light and air. She lived
her life not only through her own body but through the house as an extension of
her body; part of her relation to those she loved was embodied in the physical
medium of the home she made.” (Mendelson again.)
Good housekeeping does
not take us away from our family, rather it allows us to care for them in a
concrete and physical way, to speak love into their lives in a language they
can understand.
So, an orderly and clean
home is something to strive for. Keeping house is a valuable and worthy
pursuit. Of course, I have small children, so what I strive for is not the
immaculate clean, not the everything-shining-no-toys-on-the-floor-dinner-on-the-table-by-five-o’clock-in-high-heels-served-with-a-smile
kind of clean. Rather I strive for what Auntie Leila calls “the reasonablyclean house.” (And she raised seven children, so her reasonably clean is, well…reasonable!)
A reasonably clean house
is one where you enjoy spending time. One with bright rooms, fresh air, clean
towels and sheets, and regular meals (and therefore a clean and cheerful place
to prepare and serve them).
I think that, when it
comes to housekeeping, many of us are paralyzed by perfectionism. We have in
our mind this vision of the Perfectly Clean (we’ve been hanging out on design
blogs, after all.) We have in our mind this vague idea that cleaning requires
hours of solitude and focused energy. I remember that when I was pregnant with
baby #2 I spent hours scheming and stressing out over how I would get both kids
to nap at the same time so that I could clean, cook, and do laundry. It seemed
impossible that I might attempt to do housework when both babies were not asleep
or otherwise absent. I remember voicing my anxiety to a friend who had three
three-and-unders at home. “Well,” she said, “if you want your house to be
clean, clean it,” she said. "Like when the kids are around?? "
Um, yes.
But they might interrupt
me!
Um, yes.
But they might be in the
way!
Let them help.
But then—then—the house
won’t be…perfectly clean!!
Um, no. It won’t be
perfectly clean. But it will be reasonably clean!
So this is what I have
been trying to do lately, with varying degrees of success. I just clean my house. And always with a
little troop of helpers (see above). And you know what? I’m spending quality
time with my kids—and my house is not (too) “shocking’ after all!
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