There was a couch in my childhood home that no one was allowed to sit on. It was an antique – a mission-style solid wooden frame supporting flat, hard, brown leather cushions with horsehair stuffing. It sat in a prime spot of the front room, right by a window that overlooked the front yard. You couldn’t miss it, but you also couldn’t sit on it unless you were a guest.
I want my children’s childhood home to feel different than mine did growing up. I want them to feel like it’s their home too, not just a larger space that contains their separate bedroom bubbles. Sure, there are a few rules (the cat shelves can’t hold their weight for climbing, absolutely no drawing on the walls), but for the most part, I try to remember that everything is washable. I try to remember that the goal here isn’t to maintain a spotless, show-room home, but to raise children. Popcorn crumbs can be vacuumed from the couch cushions after a reading day. Those cushions can be washed after being jumped on with dusty feet, too.
Tiny fingerprints will eventually stop appearing on every freshly wiped surface. I do mean every single surface – if I clean the stove, oven door, microwave, door jambs, light switches, door knobs, counters, fridges, mirrors, tables, or anything else, teeny-tiny fingerprints will appear within twenty-four hours, begging to be erased again. Dried play-doh and kinetic sand can be swept, paints wiped, and spills mopped. There is some glitter paint that didn’t get wiped before it cured on our dining table – it is there forever. Instead of getting mad about it, I smile every time I remember their chubby toddler hands smashing cut up toilet paper rolls into that glitter paint to make New Years Fireworks a couple years ago.
Some messes aren’t as cute. Potty-training accidents, spilled chocolate milk on the playroom rug (whhhhhyy spill on the only carpet in the house?!), and spaghetti sauce on favorite dresses all come to mind. All sucky to clean, but still, washable none the less.
It’s all washable, and if it’s truly, truly not, is it really that big of a deal? I want my children to grow up knowing that no matter the mess, they were more important. I want this to feel like their home, not just an adult residence they carefully tip-toe through to get to their rooms. Their little minds and bodies are still developing, still learning. There’s bound to be accidental messes and that’s ok. Adults spill things too, and no one screams at them for it. Hand them a towel and move on. Everything is washable.
Disclaimer/Reality Check: This is a daily struggle for me. I am not known for embracing messes. I don’t mind getting dirty intentionally – I prefer to garden without gloves, have run tough mudders in college, and frequently use my pants as a hand towel, but crafting messes or spills still make my blood boil. Some of the best influences in my life (cheers to you, Autumn & Nelli!) are helping me work on this, and I cannot thank them enough for how they have changed my parenting for the better. This column will be about motherhood, parenting, and homemaking for the most part. Sometimes it’ll be frugal decorating tips and other times it might be a cost break down of brand name vs generic craft supplies. Most importantly, I don’t ever want this column to make another mama think she’s not doing enough. If you’re reading this, I want you to know that you are, you’re doing great, keep it up. Sing it with me: no-one is doing it allllll!
