My journey of acceptance that I am a slob.
I grew up in a do-not-touch house. It had a museum feel to it. It was the kind of house that was always immaculate – even minutes after a huge party ended. Josh thought an impulsive need to keep the house spotless must be a genetic trait and was surprised to find out that I am a slob.
Let me repeat that: I am a slob. Not the dirty kind whose home you are afraid might have things living in it besides the immediate family. I’m the breed that can’t be bothered with keeping every little thing in its place. In fact, few things in my house actually have a designated space which admittedly makes it hard to find things. For example I recently wanted to tape something to the wall and could not find my scotch tape. Would you believe this is where it was:
I used to have clean house envy. I’d walk into another person’s home and quickly note how much neater, cleaner, shinier, and better organized it was. I’d wistfully wonder if I’d ever become an adult and do things like have fresh flowers in every room like Becky, learn how to fold sheets so they stack neatly in the linen closet like Erica, and keep all my kids toys in organized, labeled bins like Rachel. I’d imagine the time when overnight visitors would be welcomed with petite soaps in the bathroom and chocolate on each pillow like Kiersten does.