Cinderella Mom

If you think Jesus would have come into your home that day and not issued a strong rebuke to the head of household, you are mistaken.

These words of condemnation have been haunting me for days now. They aren’t all that different than the soundtrack I play in my head on an almost-daily basis. It’s the one that berates me for reading a book instead of washing dishes or tsk-tsks my decision to take the kids out of the house to do something fun instead of staying in the house to clean it. It’s what drives me to give my husband a list of all the things I accomplished during the day or reasons I didn’t get this or that done. (FYI: He does not demand this of me.)

Until recently, it was just me and the condemning voice in my head telling me that if I was a better mom, I’d have a spotless house. If I was a better mom, the laundry would always be done and the dishes would always be clean and we’d always have a home-cooked meal on the table. (Where do I get these ideas?)

But then something happened. A man came to our house to perform a service for us at the request of our landlord. And before he left, he said some things to my husband about the state of our house. He used the word “filthy” and implied that Jesus would be disappointed in how we kept our house and that it was somehow my husband’s responsibility to make sure our house was clean. (Aside: I don’t think he meant that my husband should clean the house. No, no, no, this was ugly patriarchy rearing its head.)

I was out for coffee with a friend and it was one of the mornings my husband is off. He was home with the kids and watching World Cup soccer. The night before had been our community’s fireworks celebration. I had cooked and prepped food all day Saturday and we were out of the house most of the day Sunday. We were also in the midst of a string of days that were 95-feels-like-105.

So, yeah, our house was messier than usual. (Did I also mention it’s summer and the kids are home and we’d only been home from vacation for a week?)

The words, told to me later, shocked and angered me, but they also fed that little voice that lives inside. Maybe he’s right. Maybe my reasons were nothing more than excuses. Should I have been doing a better job with our house?

Whether he was wrong or right about the state of my house, I felt it was wrong of him to say something about it, so I tried contacting him by phone but ended up sending a letter stating my thoughts. A week later, I got a reply. The sentence at the beginning of this post is a paraphrase, and it was not the worst thing in the letter.

I’m still not sure I’m over it.

In the days since this man’s visit and the exchange of letters, our house has gotten cleaner because that’s the normal rhythm of our lives. We work hard, we play hard, and eventually we get around to cleaning up after ourselves. We don’t live in squalor but we also don’t strive for perfection when it comes to how our house looks. Because I’m a low-energy person and the heat affects me severely, cleaning my house in the summer is a gradual process. (We don’t have AC in most of the house nor do we have a dishwasher … oh the modern conveniences we lack!)

I like having a clean house, but I don’t always like the process, and I will often choose other activities before I choose to clean. I’m learning to accept this and not try to fit myself into someone else’s mold. I know there are some of you out there who love to clean (wanna come over?) and maybe you can see this man’s point of view. But we all have our own standards when it comes to cleanliness in our private spaces, right?

The Bible might talk about cleanliness and purification, but I’m pretty sure that’s cultural and not a justification for “cleanliness is next to godliness.” If Jesus came to my house and rebuked me for how well I kept it clean or not clean, then I’ve read the Bible all wrong all these years. (Would Judean homes have been spotless? What was that story about Mary and Martha again?)

I didn’t want to tell this story just as a rant, although I’m still pretty mad about the whole thing. I wanted to throw it out into a public space, though, because maybe you have an inner soundtrack like I do. Maybe you think you don’t deserve to do anything fun unless your house is spotless. I’ve come to think of it as Cinderella Mom Syndrome–if you finish all your chores, then you can go to the ball! (Or Target, or Starbucks, or whatever.)

If that’s you, then hear me now (and I promise to listen, too): A clean house is not the price you pay for staying home with your kids. Housework is not your penance. How much or how little you clean isn’t the measure of your success or failure at motherhood.

I have to say those words because I have to hear them. And as much as I want to believe that more people than not agree with me, if this guy can walk into a stranger’s house and say things that only add burden and shame to what is already a tough job (motherhood), then surely there are others out there believing their worth as a mother is wrapped up in their housework.

I stayed home with my kids for 10 years, and our house was never clean. I could have kept the house clean, but I think my mental health would have suffered more than it already did. I started working part time in January, and our house is still never clean. (What does that word mean anyway?) But our family is healthy and closer to whole than we’ve ever been.

Doesn’t that count for something?

SaveSave

SaveSave

SaveSave