No More Laundry On the Chair

There’s no more laundry on the chair but there are dishes in the sink. And on the counter. And on the dining room table from dinner last night. There’s no more laundry on the chair but there are toys scattered across the living room floor: horses and dinosaurs, a disassembled doctor’s kit. 

When I first left my job I dreamed of a spotless house. I dreamed of clean counters and well-balanced snacks waiting for my children after school. But my children rejected my pre-planned snacks and a spotless house meant that I actually had to clean for most of the day.

I did clean for most of my time in the beginning, did marvel at the way my house could put itself back together and almost sparkle. But it left me feeling unfulfilled and tired, too tired for me to do anything else before my children came home from school. Cleaning all day left me with an emptiness and I thought of all the women before me whose only option was to be at home. I thought of the emptiness that I felt and the privilege that I could choose differently.

So I went out to the garden. I wrote the first draft of a new novel, slowly replacing my daily tasks with more meaning. I did not leave my job to clean. I left to be with my children, to be creative—to grow. And so there will always be laundry on the chair or dirty dishes. And always toys. Always toys on the floor, new stains on the couch and rug. They all have their own stories: movie nights and dinner on the couch, a hot cocoa picnic on the floor. Today the chair is free for me to sit down and see them all.