Johnson's End

Whenever I visit someone's house, I immediately go into voyeur/observation mode. What kind of books do they own? Which brand of soap do they use? Any interesting bric-a-brac; from travels abroad, or purchased from the World Market catalog? Does it look like they dust on a regular basis? I'm asking these questions not out of judgement (most houses I've been in are quite clean and aesthetically pleasing), but rather the curiosity of how they went about keeping their abode so clean, so organized, so like a spread in an interior decorating magazine. The pillows matching the sofa, matching the lamp, matching the tall standing vase in the corner with the pussy-willows sticking out. A nice print of the an urban or natural landscape. A glass bowl full of seashells with a never-been-lit candle in the center. Everyone's houses seem so...grown-up.

And then there's our place. It's very comfortable, very lived in. But rather than tasteful silver candlesticks and framed photos of family on the mantle above the fireplace, there is as follows: one small buffalo figurine, an old Glade candle with a plastic sea-otter poking out, a bendy Betty Boop, plastic sunglasses with a small troll glued on the bridge (still in the package), a boxing nun puppet, various stuffed animals, a Mexican shot-glass, wooden Japanese children's toys, a matryoshka doll, and two metal signs that have the number one printed on them.

sigh...

There are piles of books, board games, old boxes from Amazon, and random computer parts in every corner. The center of the living room is littered with Adeline and Zoe's toys, all mixed together so dog is chewing baby-toy, baby is chewing dog-toy. Our furniture is entirely mismatched, each piece given to us second/third/fourth-hand by relatives or neighbors. We haven't eaten at the dining table in three months; it's covered with craft-supplies, baby shampoo, vitamins, library books, old fruit, and god-knows-what-else.

SIGH...

I'll be 25 in a week. Is this what the apartment of a 25-year old woman with a baby and husband boyfriend should look like? Although I am a person who no longer obsesses about the "should" (two years ago? different story), I can't help feeling guilty about my lack of domesticity. I'm a Cancer! I crave the home, creating a clean, cozy environment to house all of my friends and family while I serve homemade donuts and espresso. Yet, this place is so messy at the moment, there wouldn't be a chair, or even a spot on the floor, to sit and enjoy said donuts and espresso...the dirty laundry of the past two weeks is occupying EVERYTHING. I would have SUCKED as a housewife in the 50's. When Zach gets home lately, he doesn't even ask what I've made for dinner, because the kitchen has gotten so out of control, I get exhausted just thinking about the effort required to clean and make food and clean again. Tsk, tsk.

hey, at least these are clean!

I'm a lazy mofo, right?

I will EVENTUALLY get uncomfortable and crazy-in-the-head enough to start picking things up, folding clothes, and vacuuming again (which I've only done once twice since Addie was born). Usually it's when I've invited company over. In fact, I just told Zach that the secret to keeping our apartment clean is to continually entertain friends so that my ego overrides my laziness, and I keep working to maintain the appearance that we always have clean kitchen floors and matching hand towels in the bathroom. That our bed is always made and there are always fresh-cut flowers in the center of our dining room table. That we are really quite grown up. :)