I’m working to become comfortable with the chaos of raising children. It’s a process. It’s a very slow process.
If I allowed myself to, I’d spend all day every day picking up shoes and books and blocks. Doing load after load of laundry. Washing dish after dish after dish. But at some point, I had to realize that this is my home, not the place that I work. I’m supposed to be comfortable. I’m not the maid and I’m not paid to keep it spotless. More important than that, my having a spotless home doesn’t mean I win the award for best grownup ever.
I’ve also had to accept that raising kids is messy. They cry, they have elaborate temper tantrums . I’m going to get things wrong. I’m going to have temper tantrums if my own.
But I know what I’m trying to do. I’m trying to raise kids who pick up after themselves (so I don’t make myself crazy doing it). I want kids who handle negative feelings like anger fear and disappointment in reasonable and healthy ways. I want to raise kids who give and don’t just take. It’s a process. It’s a messy, messy process.