There was a beautiful, though short, period of time between the challenges of particularly small children and the challenges of chronic illness when my house was pretty clean almost all of the time. Not immaculate clean; we live here! But clean enough to know which basket of laundry is clean, when the last load of dishes was run, and I didn't want to melt into oblivion when a surprise guest dropped by. Unfortunately, we're not normal any more! The great room is pretty darn messy. Yeah, I know. BUT what you don't know is that it's an ongoing game of chicken with an ADD child who can sit for three hours staring at the wall perfectly happily. The kitchen is a disaster most of the time. BUT it's also the only room left entirely to me. And the dictator of the kitchen is going to nuke the entire nation if they don't learn how to throw away their own garbage and rinse out a dish before piling it on the counter top! It's currently hostile territory. Don't worry, though, I only cook for others when things are clean enough to prevent the spread of ebola. It may be messy, but it's not going to kill anybody, and darn it -- I'm working on it! I could go on and on. It's part of life when mama has severe chronic pain. Part of the every day juggling act to get things done without overdoing anything. My house isn't messy because we don't care, because I don't know how to clean, because I don't want it clean. It's messy because we are surviving.
