2022-09-27 Our Daily Mess...

Today's post is partly to de-stress and sort out the thoughts I have inside me. It will be about mess, which is something that generally stresses me out.

Roots

In my family home there was usually more or less order, mostly thanks to my mom's efforts, because we, the children, did not pay much attention to it, at least until a certain age. It was Mom who herded us into cleaning, together with Dad. Often she could not get us to clean up after ourselves as we went, and then she would clean up after us herself. Mom, by the way, still cleans a lot to this day. She has this need, which I think she in turn brought from her own home. So Saturday was cleaning day in our house. Vacuuming, washing floors, dusting, cleaning the bathrooms and kitchen, as well as our rooms. There were exceptions to the rule, but generally after such a day it was roughly clean, although each of us, maybe except Mom, made sure entropy was preserved, and disorder returned fairly quickly.

A slightly different kind of order reigned at the home of my dear friend, F. He lived in a forest village, in a fairly large house, with his parents and siblings. F.'s house was clean, much like mine, but for some reason I always had the impression that there was more visual chaos there. It was not mess, though. Maybe it was because of the abundance and variety of things inside it. Since I was not a permanent resident, I felt that something new and surprising could meet me there at every step. The place seemed to me a den of adventure and at the same time a promise of it. The greatest chaos, however, reigned in my friend's room, which looked like a hobbit hole perversely placed in the attic. Its contents suggested that, by some miracle, a dump truck hauling a load of books from a library being shut down somewhere had got lost there. Two or three bookcases towered over everything, trying to gather the most important things and not let them drown in a sea of creative disorder. In the center stood a small table, and in several corners there were mattresses, an armchair, and a couch, where you could stretch out comfortably. Together with the computer, a few paintings in progress, F.'s faithful notebook, and a changing representation of all kinds of knick-knacks, the room gave the impression that everything that exists was inside it, or at least that anything could come into being there.

Over the years of visiting F., more or less often, a thought grew in me that this was the kind of home I would like to have someday in the future. I simply felt very good there. It seemed to constrain creativity in no way, because there were no rules trying to limit possible changes in the decor and purpose of individual rooms. If there had been a need to turn the large room into a garage for stripping Iron Man out of his suit, I am sure it would not have taken longer than a day. At the same time, despite the chaos, I did not feel that there was any actual mess there, because everything seemed to be perfectly in its place. Bathroom things were in the bathroom, kitchen things in the kitchen, dishes in the sink or cupboards. If I had to say where, in my opinion, the sense of disorder came from, it was from the fact that all objects seemed to be welcome there, so it was hard to predict what thing would appear at any given moment, and where its permanent place should be assigned, especially since it might be needed somewhere else right away. As far as I know F. and his brother, they put practicality and efficiency above a fixed domestic order. Field order, now that's something!

My wife, in turn, lived before our wedding in a family home where there was even more order, and even more cleanliness, than in my home. Among other things, that is why she taught me to put the toilet lid down, the outer one, whereas in my house there was no such need, after all both boys and girls have to lift it anyway, so why put it down at all?

All in all, my upbringing and hers gave hope that when we lived together, our home would meet some fairly decent standards when it came to order and cleanliness. Time showed, however, that this was not what happened.

Married life

After our wedding we moved into a small two-room apartment in a tenement house in Kraków. It was characterized by a very small amount of furniture, which meant that even though we brought some of our own cabinets, a lot of things were always lying out in the open.

It was a moment when we were both starting to learn how to live together and share responsibilities. I was working, J. was studying, which gave her a bit more free time, but we split things more or less equally... which irritated me a little, because I felt I had less free time than she did. Still, we did not spend very much time cleaning, partly because the mess did not bother us that much, and partly because we preferred to use the time after work in other ways. For example, taking a walk around Kraków, watching a film together, or playing something together, generally enjoying each other and our fresh marriage. And even when we cleaned, it did not take much time, because the space was not very large, and there were no nooks and crannies either. Half an hour and done. The issue of visual disorder remained all the time, though. I hoped that when we moved somewhere with more furniture, things would get better.

We moved from Kraków to Łódź when J. was pregnant with Młoda. In the new apartment we finally had more cupboards of all kinds, so as soon as we dealt with the move, then... For a while we managed to keep things relatively tidy. Still nothing special, because J., being pregnant, did not have much strength for anything, but our home could be quite decent and pleasant.

A new challenge: parenthood

It did not last long, however, because Młoda soon appeared in the world. The first weeks were surprisingly calm. I was on leave, so keeping up with cleaning was not a problem. Over time, however, the little one began to demand more and more attention, and I went back to work, while cleaning switched into "at the earliest possible opportunity" mode. When Młoda got a bit older, we put a playpen in the large room, which was meant to separate her somewhat from cables and other dangerous things. In the process, however, it also managed to separate us from the far part of the room, including the entrance to the balcony. Besides, we only made expeditions into those regions when laundry needed to be taken down or hung up, because the entire rest of the floor was taken up by the drying rack. Apart from days when guests visited us, this room rarely looked as though even partial order reigned in it.

Our kitchen did what it could, and we did what we could too, to hide all our things in the cupboards, and every cubic meter of space was filled to a high degree, but you cannot overcome limited square footage. Quite quickly, bags landed on the floor by the entrance, serving as a pantry, where we kept canned goods, dry products, and fast-disappearing vegetables such as onions and potatoes.

The bedroom, surprisingly, looked the best, maybe because of the bed, which took up about 40% of it. The remaining space was occupied by Młoda's crib, the changing table, and a desk, which despite the piles of things stacked on them often looked decent, as well as a huge empty space. Well, maybe 4 square meters is not that much, but compared with the playpen... It was the only one that gave the feeling that there was somewhere to breathe in our apartment, that you could stand up and take a few steps. If a person was determined, you could even climb onto the bed. Maybe it was precisely this openness, the window overlooking the lawn below, the light walls, and the fact that making the bed was enough for everything to somehow look nicer, that made it my favorite room.

Nevertheless, I often had the thought that we were terrible messy people. In my memories I saw parents, grandparents, and friends whose apartments were neat and cozy. I felt that ours was different. I accused myself of us being lazy, of organizing our time badly, of maybe needing to do more things at once. It created tension in me, because I tried to do more, even when I felt I needed rest. I gave myself no room for such weakness. Since others manage, then I should too, no pain, no excuses.

This translated into our family relationships. I lacked understanding for myself, and I also started putting pressure on J., who herself was often exhausted from taking care of our baby. In my thoughts, Młoda turned into a package of duties to fulfill, which I often reproached myself for, causing an even greater sense of guilt.

The final nail in the coffin of order in our home was another move, which left behind the mark of an unfinished renovation.

And that was the moment when I finally gave up.

It won't get worse

Shortly before Młoda's first birthday, we moved to the countryside, to my parents' house. The combination of the multitude of our things, painting tools, and the omnipresent "work in progress" gives order no chance whatsoever. Behind the kitchen door stand skirting boards that J. has been pestering me to install for quite some time. Buckets of paint and their samples remind us of the ongoing renovation. So do toolboxes, bags with painting things, and a cabinet with a kitchen hood, which instead of shelves hides boxes of spare screws and unused elements for Ikea furniture. Our bedroom is an island of bed, surrounded by unpacked bags. On the desk stands a whiteboard that we should hang in the hallway, but first we need to buy mounting strips. Młoda's room is a daily battle between play and order, which J. wages with our little daughter. The only tidy place is the hallway, with one cabinet whose shelves hold books sorted by J. Every time I pass through there, a feeling of communing with beauty is born in me. Thanks, Darling :)

Troubling thoughts and questions keep appearing in me: "what is wrong with us that we cannot keep order?", "what effect will growing up in such a mess have on our children?", "what must other people, who manage to clean more often, think of us?". But slowly I am managing to stop tormenting myself with it so much. I would like our home to look nicer, but I want to deal with that transformation slowly. There are more important things, such as playing with Młoda, building a relationship with her. I would rather leave dry laundry on the drying rack for a few days if it means I will feel better, or that instead I will read a few pages of a book that will help me be a better dad. One thing at a time and slowly, but I hope somehow it will be all right.

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Update 2022/09/19: J. seems to have felt inspired by this post, because today she did the kind of cleaning this house had never seen before. Thanks, J.! :)