This is a post I recently did on our family blog. Thought it worthy of the writing blog:
So as I stood at the sink tonight, washing the dinner dishes, I started to think of just how futile an endeavor cleaning truly is. Especially with small children in the house. I thought of how it takes me two hours to fold and put away the five loads of laundry I have been avoiding only to walk into the two older kids’ room a half hour later and find every single article of clothing on the floor. Or how it takes me forty-five minutes to scrub down the shower, get all the hard water marks off the glass door, only to get spots on it right after when I have to take a shower because I am dripping in sweat and cleaning agents. Or how I vacuum the floor and ten minutes later there are goldfish crumbs all over. Or how I clean the kitchen only to get it dirty making the next meal. Or how I pick up all the toys and my two year old son goes behind me and dumps them all back out. Or how…well you get the idea.
Clean, dirty, clean, dirty. It is absurdly cyclical. Thing is I can’t stand a dirty house. I can’t resist, no matter how hard I would like to, the need to vacuum, scrub, pick up and clean. So in the end, I suppose, no matter the end result, resistance is futile.