A Little Clean ; A Little Happy

I would like to share something with you. As is typical of me and my love of tangents, it has absolutely nothing to do with the meat and potatoes of this post. But I'm going to share it anyway.

Whomever designed my new laptop either A) had a hearty sense of humor, or B) never really picked up the laptop before shipping it off for mass production. I say that because when I pick up the laptop, I pop open the CD/DVD drive about 90% of the time. The button is exactly where my hand goes.

Hardy-har-har, little laptop design man. Hardy-har-har.

{But other than that tiny faux pas, I love it! Thanks, honey!}

. . .

Ahem. All-righty then.  Moving on.

. . .

Earlier today, I started cleaning the house with about as much gusto as would be expected on a Monday. In case you're confused, that's not very much. I did a little here, and did a little less there. I emptied the dishwasher; switched out the laundry. Folded a load while watching some Mike Rowe; pondered about asking him to come try his hand at changing some poopy diapers. Loaded the dishwasher; ate some food.

I kept getting sidetracked until I realized, much to my horror, that it was 30 minutes before Chuck got home from work and I still didn't have any make-up on. My hair was in a pony-tail {which is pretty much indicative of really dirty hair. . . P.S. changing your hair's wash cycle ain't for the faint of heart ;) }. Now, just to be clear, I'm not saying that Chuck would be disappointed, disgusted, or disgruntled with me should he come home and I resembled something you'd expect to see crawling out from under the bed. What I was more concerned with was that I had very little to show for my appearance.

Usually, I'm unkempt when I've been too busy to get ready. Unloading the dishwasher and folding some laundry does not quite explain away the other 13 hours I had during the day. . . :)

Let it be known that I've never cleaned so fast in my entire life, ya'll.

Well, okay, fine. Maybe I can whip out a similar feat when I know someone is coming over for a visit in 15 minutes and I can't see the carpet underneath Hannah's toys and dog hair.

{my little helper 2011}

I got the house squeaky-ish clean and took Zoe out for a potty break. I swept the entryway stairs of excess ice melt {hoping against hope that I won't have to use it again this season}, and let Zoe back in. I turned around from closing the front door and saw snow all over the freshly vacuumed carpet. Ummmm. . .. ?

I looked at Zoe.

She looked at me.

Let me just say that they don't call 'em "puppy dog eyes" for nuthin'.

She slowly put down the squeaky toy of Hannah's {that she knows she's not supposed to have but steals anyway}, thinking that might be the source of all the hostility.

Realizing that wasn't it, she then immediately booked it for her safe-haven under the bed while I tried to pick up itty-bitty pieces of snow before they melted.

Fail.

I started thinking along a popular mental footpath right about then : one cannot possibly have a {truly} clean house and an indoor large-breed dog. It's one of the most acute oxymorons known to this universe. It can't be done.

That branched off onto another vein of the same concept : I cannot bring myself to imagine Zoe reeking havoc on the new house. I just won't let her inside. She'll have to toughen up and stay outside more often.

Right?

Well, I already know how it will pan out, and let me tell you how {and why}. For the first while, I'll stick to my guns. I will relish in my {truly} clean house and love every minute of it. But then I'll start to miss Zoe's companionship during the day. I'll start to miss hearing Hannah's jolly-old-man laugh when she watches Zoe chase her tail. I'll start to miss Zoe acting as a built-in vacuum cleaner when I drop pieces of food during dinner preparation. I'll start to forget about all the nasty dog hair sticking to everything, and let her inside.

I know what you're thinking, and you're right. I will ask what I was thinking when I see a coating of dog hair covering the brand new carpet. I will most certainly wonder if I have any marbles left in my noggin when I see the claw marks on the new floors. I'll wipe down the furniture and want to gag.

But, you know, there's more to life than having a clean house.

Is a clean house a happy home?

I like to think it is, yes. Sometimes.

Is a happy home always a clean one?

Not always, no.

A little dog hair in the cracks often speaks of a content and well-loved animal. Toys strewn all over the floor speaks of a adventurous and well-looked after child. Socks laying on the bedroom floor speaks of a husband who is too busy enjoying his time home with his family to worry about hitting the hamper {or something like that ;) hahaha! Just to be fair, I very rarely have to pick up Chuck's clothes. He's like a ninja.}

I'm not saying that you and I should just throw in the towel and give up cleaning all together, calling it "Project Happy". A clean, organized home is a streamlined home where happiness has a chance to grow and flourish. But we can, if not careful, make having a clean home take precedence over having a happy one.

{2012-ish}

I love my husband, my daughter, and my dog, and I want them to be happy first and foremost. I want those who come into our home to feel welcome, appreciated, and comfortable. I do my darndest to provide the atmosphere that breeds those things, but I try not to let my shortcomings rule out my contentment as a homemaker/wife/mother/person.

Does that make sense?

Not a one of us is perfect, and no one has the perfect home all the time. We each have areas in which we can improve, so let's get to it! But let's not become so focused on the desired outcome that we refuse to appreciate the journey.  If we do our best to be happy in the moment, we will be happy wherever we are. I could have lost my patience with Zoe because I had spent time and effort trying to keep the house clean, but a clean house never lasts. Relationships and memories last, and I can PROMISE you that I'll remember Zoe for many, many moons. I can also promise you that I will NOT remember having to pick up chunks of snow from the carpet.

{2010-ish}