Me, only a bit more mellow...

Since starting my part-time gig almost 8 weeks ago, I have found it more and more difficult to set aside "quiet" time to BLOG. There is very little "quiet" time in this house but I used to at least get the better part of two hours on a good day while Cole napped to rush around completing TO-Do's, along with running errands and getting some household chores accomplished while my little rascal tagged along or supervised (or in full disclosure, just created a bigger mess somewhere else in the house while he went unsupervised).

Now, I am working three days a week, I have fewer "free" hours to fit in grocery shopping, vacuuming, laundry, cleaning, bill paying, budgeting, vacuuming, dog walking, the post office, the dry cleaners, the library, vacuuming (you can tell it is spring when Tucker sheds and I literally have to vacuum every day), and so on.

I don't know how moms work full time, raise a child(ren) and run a household. People tell me often how nice the house always looks and how organized I am. I cook or at least prep dinner five nights a week. Dave never has to rummage looking for a clean shirt or socks. I am proud that I run a tight and relatively upright ship (and a clean one) but it is because there are so many things out of my realm of control now that I am a parent to a toddler that those things that do remain under my authority and management have to be just so. Thus, I prefer to leave and enter a "quiet" and clutter free home. It is just my thing and my husband stopped questioning my motives long ago!

Anyone who knows me well, knows however, that becoming a mom has certainly mellowed my Type A ways. I used to go as far as to turn labels facing out on items in my refrigerator (though I still tend to do it with things in my cabinets) and alphabetized my CDs and books (which I no longer do probably because we don't listen to CDs anymore and my book collection has waned the past 2.4 years). I don't obsess about dust bunnies as much as I do dirty paw prints on my floor or dishes in the sink. I shrug when Cole's hands become filthy or he picks up food from the floor (which is actually rare since Tucker has dibs on those) but I detest a snotty laced face, it literally makes me cringe.

The mess Cole makes when he eats is, well overwhelming, but just getting him to eat takes all my patience and energy so I don't fret over the slovenly manner in which he chooses to go about his meals. I used to care more about wiping up EVERY speck after EVERY meal but over time I now let a few days go by before I chisel the dried jello and dribbled ketchup glue from off the mat beneath his chair (hey at least I had the sense to buy a replaceable mat). I do loathe little people hand prints and dog nose smudges on my glass doors and thus you can find me carrying around a bottle of vinegar (I've gone GREEN) nightly to rid glass surfaces and door jams of sticky little finger residue and slobber.

I don't have major piles of anything on my desk (other than books & magazines which I doubt I will ever get around to reading). However, I do have a tendency to accumulate and overstock our basement storage shelves and chest freezer with enough "stuff" to feed us all for a month should we ever be held captive in our house because the entry doors freeze shut (ha, you laugh but our garage door froze shut this past January).

I do make our beds every morning before going downstairs but I don't mop the floor everyday like I used too. I do stack full outfits (top/pants/socks) in Cole's closet for two weeks at a time (just in case I die, he'll match for at least that amount of time) but in all honesty I started doing that because when we have accidents, I just whip a new set off the shelf since Cole doesn't hold still for more than 10 seconds and I don't feel like chasing his naked bum around while accidents typically occur when we are already running late for somewhere (another thing I hate to be is late).

The morale of this post is that I believe that though I still hold high standards for portions of my life, becoming a mom has taught me to let go of many of them and just enjoy the moments. If that means laughing to myself as my son hands me a half-chewed gooey graham cracker at a play date and I without a napkin pop it in my mouth to dispose of it or if it means rolling with it as he licks the sidewalk chalk off his hands before I can stop him, well then, I've already done that and it wasn't the end of the world for me (or for Cole).