Bedroom Confessions of a Terrible Housewife

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Bedroom Confessions of a Terrible Housewife

It’s picturesque in my head. The kids are napping and my husband and I steal away to the bedroom for some alone time. I lock the door just in case. Anticipation fills my heart and my head. It’s a perfect rainy day and what better way to spend it than in the arms of my lover, my husband. I slowly take off my clothes. I’d like to imagine I’m not just awkward, but sexy. I turn around to see…my husband pushing the pile of clean clothes to the floor to join the rest of the pile. Oh well, we have a few minutes — let’s enjoy them.

We do and I get up to get dressed just in case the kids wake. In my mind, I gracefully slip back into my t-shirt and sweatpants. In reality though, I trip on some other random piece of whatever that has landed with the rest of whatevers on my bedroom floor. I catch myself on my vanity regaining my balance. It’s a beautiful, sturdy, refinished piece of furniture that doubles as a makeup vanity and a workspace. Most of the makeup is buried under random things I have taken from the kids and the work space mentioned is just nonexistent. Argh, I growl in my mind. Then I walk to the bathroom in the sexiest way possible, which of course means putting my feet down in just the right places so I don’t trip on the mess.

This is our bedroom. Our sanctuary. It is a mess!

As I leave the bathroom, I survey the chaos. Then I sigh grinding my teeth and push down my anxiety. There is just no time to clean it. Busy schedules, exhausted parents, and a never-ending plethora of things that need safe keeping from the minions stand between us and the one thing I dearly want: a clean bedroom.

The rest of the house is clean enough. I seriously struggle with it, but I try to keep the kitchen and bathrooms as clean as possible. They are the most important. You will often find toys strung about the living space, but I usually put them away long enough to clean the floors underneath. The pantry is even halfway organized. Yet our bedroom is just untouchable. The minute I try to get to it, someone is yelling “mommy” and I’m pulled away again. The time and energy just aren’t there.

Isn’t it just the epitome of motherhood to have the one space that’s yours taken over?

My kids are getting older and I’m slowly regaining some personal space. My bedroom however, remains in distress. It doesn’t keep it from being the fun zone, but it definitely keeps my tension high. Just. Like. Motherhood. It’s the one thing I just don’t have the time for. Oh sure, I’ve cleaned it time and again. I take the hours to fold and put the laundry away. I reorganize the closet. I vacuum the carpet that can finally be seen. Yet it never ceases to amaze me how quickly the rest of life creeps in there and pukes all over the only space in the house we have strictly for ourselves.

Next year, both of my kids will be in school. I will have five blessed hours a day to myself. While it’s bittersweet, I just can’t help squealing with glee as I think of a bedroom space that’s of my dreams. Maybe I’m lying to myself thinking it will be just so. Maybe another unrealistic idea of life and motherhood right there. I’m dreaming of the day I can walk from my bedroom to the bathroom without fear of breaking an ankle after and extraordinarily good time.

In the meantime I must confess my bedroom is a hot mess!

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