Practicing Messy

Messes are uncomfortable for me.  At least my messes are.  I don't mind other people's messes unless it's in my house and those other people happen to be my children.  If I'm in someone else's house, I consider messes normal.  It makes the other people more human.  Relatable.  It's odd and unfair that we expect things of ourselves that we'd never expect of others.

As an A-Type adult, there is a sense of pride in a job well done, a day governed by productivity, setting goals then meeting them, exhausting oneself for achievement while driving yourself and everyone else crazy in the process.  It's fantastic!  Until you realize how truly shallow it is.

Our accomplishments aren't shallow.  But feeling good about our accomplishments by comparing ourselves to others is shallow.    And we all do this constantly.  Especially those of us who are performance-driven.  When others acquire or accomplish more, we feel inadequate and insecure.  If they acquire or accomplish less, we feel self-righteous and superior.  We base our value on comparing ourselves to other flawed and broken people, revealing our own flaws and breaks.

And then we'll turn and lecture our children on trying their best.  "It's not about how your siblings or friends do - it's about how you do.  How you try.  The effort you put forth.  Giving your best over and over again.  I want to see you try your best because I believe in you as a person!  You can do a great job, not just because you are trying to beat someone else but because I believe in you!  God made you amazing - fearfully and wonderfully!  Stop comparing yourself - it's immature!"  If only we lectured ourselves a bit more.

We had a neighbor who was constantly out washing or waxing his boat or cars.  Always.  Without fail.  There was never a  speck of dust on any of his vehicles.  We wondered at the wasted water, soap, and time.  His wife must have felt so neglected at the time and attention spent on his toys.  Or relieved that he wasn't obsessing over her flaws...  Speaking of specks, I noticed a discomfort in my eye...

Maybe I'm getting too tired to fight the endless battles of perfectionism or maybe I'm finally growing up but in the past couple years I've decided to practice messy a bit more.  I'm still Type A so the messes are controlled, but I allow them to happen as life is being lived out.  Popcorn on the rug during family movie night, cooking messes that leave flour and sugar sprinkled the floor and inevitably on the bottom of my feet, or game pieces strewn about during a board game marathon on a rainy afternoon are all signs that a house is lived in.  That life is taking place.  That fun was had.  You better believe that the messes don't stay there for long, but they are permitted for the moment.



Letting go of perfectionism in my home is half choice, half survival. I'm choosing to 'practice messy' by allowing a bit of clutter as a counterattack against my obsessive tenancies while also surrendering to the formidable foe of Life.  I'm terribly outnumbered in a house of boys and am choosing peace over stress.  My preferences shouldn't rob my family of peace.

Respect their home?  Yes.  Clean up their messes?  Yes.  Help with daily tasks?  Yes.  Appreciate order and cleanliness?  Yes.    

Allowing my home to be caught in the act of being lived in has been a control issue within my heart that I've had to wrestle through, time and again, and still do.  I cringe when there's a knock at the door when dirty dishes are in the sink, one of the boys socks are on the floor, and a pile of laundry sits on the sofa.  I'm sure the person at the door has family messes to go home to.  I just don't like to show mine.  But I smile and invite them in anyway and have to resist the flood of apologies that choke my pleasantries.

I love when my home is immaculately cleaned.  But my realities of life are chocolate coating to a vanilla soft serve cone.  Vanilla ice cream is pure, sweet, and delicious - the way I want my life.  White and clean.  It's the chocolate coating that adds a different dimension.  A rich yet messy dimension.  A napkin-requiring dimension.

The chocolate coating is knowing that my boys did their best to clean the bathroom, wash the glass, or load the dishwasher.  It's knowing that they really tried to vacuum the rug even I can still spot a few dog hairs.  It's knowing that we worked together as a team to get ready for guests.  It's knowing that I'm teaching them skills and responsibilities that will carry with them through life.   It's knowing that if the messes weren't allowed, they would never have patience or grace with each other's messes nor learn the team work required to clean them up.

It's appreciating the rich chocolate dimension of the unpredictable that coats my every day, teaching me to breathe deeply, slow down, and smile as I get a napkin.

My Mother's Day present from Eli (2nd grade).