One of the core memories of my Dad growing up was that he was always wiping down the counters. Before breakfast, after breakfast, home from work, make a cup a coffee. He had a damp dish rag and he knew how to use it. This guy’s got a problem! I thought. What a weirdo! I assumed.

Turns out, wiping down your counters 120 times per day is the literal bare minimum that keeps your house from being a safety hazard. As an adult, I understand. As a mother, I really understand. The crumbs. The splashes of water. The sticky spots.

I am completely amazed at the amount of work that goes into simply keeping a house presentable. I am not talking clean. I mean just keeping it at a basic level of livable.

It is so, so much work.

The transition from 1 to 2 children has been hard for me in a lot of ways, but staying on top of housework is right up there. There are times I wonder how anyone does it without being buried under a pile of stuff and corners covered in dust. When it was just me and my toddler, when I really needed to finish a project or get some cleaning done, I could use her nap time, enlist her help (she was a calm, non-mess maker…unlike my wild destroyer of a boy we got for round 2). If worse came to worse, I could get a lot done in a 25 minute episode of Paw Patrol. I look at videos from when we just had Mila, and I think, “My house was so clean!”

But now, all bets are off. My 1 year old boy is a master destroyer. A toilet paper eater. A cord wrangler. A food thrower. A drawer emptier. A basket dumper.

This is normal behavior, I know, so I guess my question is, how is everyone else doing it?

When I come to your houses, they are clean. Maybe not spotless, but they are clean. Even when I show up unannounced, they are presentable. When is everyone getting this all done? This is my simple question.

There are a hundred things I love about living in a small house; I can vacuum the whole thing using 3 outlets! I can do a deep clean quickly (when Dad has the kids in the basement!). It’s cute. It’s cozy. But one of the downsides to having a small house is that even a tiny amount of clutter can make the whole place feel like a mess.

I have an older home. Even when my house is clean-ish, the baseboards are worn and marked. The doors are old and beat up. The corners look dingy. The lights are outdated and the storage space is small (and jam-packed).

Even after a couple dozen hours of cleaning, it never actually feels clean because we live there. We eat 129 meals a day, give or take. It’s like running on a treadmill…never getting anywhere.

I say this with lighthearted jest, but in all seriousness, this has been a major heart issue for me. One that has affected my demeanor with my children as I see them as interruptions to all I need to get done. An obsession with a put-together, cute house has created bitterness and envy in my heart when I think other people have this figured out. This fixation makes me rage clean on the weekend instead of doing something more fun with the family. It has taken away the ability to rest, because instead of doing something good for my soul, I use the very limited time I have someone watching the kids to clean.

And while having a house that isn’t a safety hazard IS important and necessary, and while physical clutter DOES contribute to the mental load, this issue for me is a heart one.

It’s a heart issue, this one.

A clean and cute house is an idol for me. I feel when my house is out of control, I am too. I link my success and failure as a mother and a homemaker to the state of my house. (If you stay home full time, you know what a wild ride that is). I am in a constant and miserable state of striving when it comes to my house.

Oh, the striving.

Even now as I type these words, I see a closet overflowing, piles on the dresser and an overflowing hamper of laundry. As I write, something restful and rejuvenating for me, I am pulled away to get my house a little closer to perfect.

So much striving.

Every minute there are new messes made and laundry dirtied. There are drinks spilled and spit up on the mopped floor. I can never complete a checklist because with the final mark, there is more work piling up.

So what’s the answer? How can I find the line that is taking pride in and taking care of my home, without finding all of my self worth as a Mom and wife in it? To let it get a little crazy sometimes knowing it won’t be that way forever?

How can I become more comfortable being here, in a house that’s lived in?

Comparison is probably the worst part of it all for me. I see images of others’ homes that are beautiful and spotless and wonder what is wrong with me that I can’t keep my tiny home looking the same?

I clearly do not have the answers for this, but over the years I have tried to compile some strategies to help me come up for air when I feel like I am drowning in a messy house:

1. Ask myself the question: “What blessings would I be missing if I didn’t have this mess?”

I got this one from one of my favorite social media accounts (@moneysavingmom). When the basement is an obstacle course with pillows strewn everywhere – I would be missing the energy and giggles of my daughter as she races around. The crumbs and diapers and toys – all evidence of the happy, healthy little people I am blessed to take care of.

2. Remind myself that my circumstances are not the same as others

Perhaps “clean house” girl on Instagram doesn’t homeschool and has a couple hours a week her daughter is in Preschool while her son naps. Maybe her daughter napped past 2 years old and she had more time. Maybe they watch more TV! Maybe they have a housecleaner! Or possibly she just has it more figured out than me. Maybe she just does the dang thing. And I have to be okay with that, too! None of us are comparing apples to apples. We all have unique circumstances with unique challenges.

3. Most importantly, remember that the state of my house is not my identity.

This is the kicker. Above all, when I begin to spiral internally (and externally) that my house is a wreck and I am a failure, reminding myself that my identity, my status, my safety and my worth have nothing to do with the hair around the sink and the soap scum in the bathtub. I take care of my home to the best of my ability. I take care of my kids to the best of my ability, and at the end of the day, no matter what, I am secure and safe in the love of Christ. When I find my identity in absolutely anything other than that, it’s an exhausting ride full of striving.

A few weeks ago, it was a rage-clean day. I had a bad attitude and everyone in my house could feel it. I was complaining to my husband that the house was “disgusting!” (specifically our doors) and I was truly a gem to be around.

I continued my cleaning and saving of the world when my daughter came up to me with my phone and a picture she had taken.

She showed me a picture of our back door.

“The door isn’t disgusting, Mom.”

A sense of conviction came over me.

What message am I sending my kids when I call this beautiful home, filled with more blessings than I could ever imagine “disgusting.” When I clean with a bad attitude and make everyone feel like a burden?

This is an area I need to continue to work on.

While taking care of my home is obviously important and a big part of what my job is, it isn’t THE job.

Someday soon I hope to find rest in my lived in house, to find the balance between constant striving for perfection and “good enough” for this season.

This house is lived in, and trust me, we have the fingerprints to prove it.

The “not disgusting” door my daughter photographed.

Here are also some photos of my home that my paparazzi daughter took. I don’t think she sees a single disgusting thing. Just a lot of life.