Sometimes I walk into our bedroom and I wonder how it got so messy. When did I become content to throw my clothes on the floor and leave the bed unmade?
It was when I joined the Mom vs. Kid Changing Derby.
For a brief time in my history I was in a show in Branson, MO. We had fast costume changes but they do not compare to the Mom vs. Kid Changing Derby that I am a part of now. Generally speaking, I have about 18 seconds to change into something decent before a toddler comes racing into the room intent on finding his missing mommy. Showers and bathroom breaks are similar. If I have a goal of privacy it is only achieved with speed. And I’m fast. Fast enough to win most of the time, although my housekeeping skills suffer. The house is the casualty of this derby. In truth, on a regular day my house is explainably decent. The master becomes the private dumping ground, which is an excellent arrangement.
Until the holidays. We have a family member who loves to walk around with a video camera documenting it all. Most families have one. And I was prepared. I had that master perfect for their arrival… but on the last day not so much. When I saw him coming down those stairs with that camera in action I panicked (or scowled?). I thought, Oh no. The bedroom! It was pretty at first but as the visit progressed the bedroom digressed. I looked at the camera again. Busted. I am a failed housekeeper. While tying to remember if there were any undergarments lying about, I had to make a choice to either confront the family videographer or let it go and embrace the imperfections. Look at the trip and realize everyone is a little fatter and happier than when it began. The kids are safe and only my wounded pride is left to grapple with. These are the days my friend. I promised myself then and there that I wouldn’t flog myself over it. One day the Mom vs. Kid Changing Derby will be over and I will be able to put all my clothes away and make the bed too. My house will be a tidy little kingdom and I will look back on this day and remember when life was just a blur and nothing was ever truely clean. I will remember the Nutella fingerprints on the walls and even be able to thank that videographer for saving the evidence and reminding me of what these years looked like for us.
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