The sane Mom's New Year's resolution: Accept the mess
My son said you're not supposed to have "negative'' New Year's Resolutions.
This was after I announced that my No. 1. resolution this year is to "stop keeping the house so clean.''
He did a rapid-air-intake gasp of disgust when I said it. Ever since he became a teen-ager, he's been concerned with cleanliness. Nevermind that his own bedroom is a pit, and that he probably thinks you can sanitize something by spraying a third of a can of Axe cologne on it.
"The house never has been clean!'' he said to my New Year's resolution announcement.
This was after I had cleaned the living room. And his Dad had tossed one pair of dirty socks on the floor, to mark the space as his.
"I'm just not going to drive myself crazy trying to keep the house clean,'' I explained to Creed, my 14-year-old, as I chopped vegetables and lettuce to fulfill my No. 2 resolution ("Eat more salad.'') "I'm going to accept the mess,'' I told him.
This exchange was just days after a New Year's Eve campout in Key Largo -- planned, shopped, packed and executed by me -- during which he complained bitterly that I had not brought paper plates on which to eat the lobster, steak, scallops and baked potatoes I'd brought along.
"And your top resolution,'' I advised him, "should be to pay more attention to the hard work your father and I put in to make your life better.''
He went on and on in a teen-agerish way about us not teaching his 7-year-old sister to keep her belongings in her bedroom, about the supposed fact that none of his friends' homes are as messy as ours, that even when they are in the midst of cooking dinner, his friends' kitchens are spotless, and on and on. So I gave up.
But I've already left my mark. On the refrigerator is a new magnet I bought during the Christmas break, at Miami Seaquarium (annual passes!).
I took down all the photos, the A+ spelling test, the cutesy drawings of Mommy. And on this clean slate I put up one ceramic, square magnet. It has a fake button on it, kind of like a doorbell, and it says "Press button for maid. If no one answers, Do it Yourself!''
The sad thing is, everyone in the family, including my husband, actually pushed on the fake button. They looked around the kitchen, but there was no maid. Only me. And I'm accepting the mess.
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Brittany Wallman is the mother of Creed, 15, and Lily, 7, and is married to a journalist, Bob Norman. She covers Broward County government, which is filled with almost as much drama as the Norman household. Almost.
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