If You Give A Mother A Dirty Toilet

There I was, again, using the short cut, through the half bath in between the laundry room and my office. I jumped onto the computer to place an Annie Lamott book on hold at the library then turned to head back outside to work on my writing, again through the shortcut past…my dirty toilet.

Each time I pass through the bathroom, I glance at that dirty toilet and fight the urge to clean it. Back outside, then back inside again, always passing that toilet. Cleaning that toilet gets harder and harder to resist. It’s not that dirty, just a slight dark ring beginning to form around the water line and few spots in the bowl. However, it's dirty enough to bug me. And…I know, as sure as I know that my kids will piss me off again, that if I clean the toilet, it will lead to misery.

If I clean the toilet, then the bathroom sink looks dirty. So in my typical “it’ll only take a second” mind set, I will clean the sink. Then the floor will look yucky, so I will clean the floor, including scrubbing those more stubborn (been on the floor for several weeks) stains. It’s a small bathroom, so when I’m done I will notice the dried splashes of urine on the wall (I live with three penis bearing fellows). So then I will wipe down the walls.

The immense satisfaction that comes from having a clean bathroom will spur me on into the laundry room, where I will move the dryer in order to reach the three ‘runaway’ socks. Seeing all the dust will prompt a full vacuuming behind the dryer and a good floor and wall scrub in the room. The laundry room will be sparkly and make the kitchen look absolutely filthy. In the kitchen, I will go as far as to wipe the crud on the far side of the dishwasher door that no one sees, and scrape “that’ stuff off the floor underneath the overhang of the kitchen cabinets. Even though it’s fall, I will start planning the cleaning that will take place in the kids room. Too small clothes removed, dust bunnies (why do they call dust clumps that?) from behind dressers captured and all socks matched and put in order in underwear draws. I will then move onto the family room, where I will wonder if I have the time to design, buy fabric and sew those curtains I keep meaning to do.

It will not be until I am halfway finished with the family room, most likely when the couch is flipped upside down so I can really vacuum the underside of it, that I will run out of steam as well as any desire for a clean house. I will succumb to feelings of failure. Failure, because I just can’t seem to keep the house clean. That means, according to this imaginary 2005 Mother Rule Book that many of us follow, that I am not a good mother. The guilt will set in and I will think to myself, “If I could just stay on top of it, it would never get to this.” This will lead to more guilt of not being good enough, or organized enough to stay on top of it. Then I will switch to not contributing enough to our income to be able to afford a cleaning person, which of course, leads to the guilt of having so much already and not appreciating it. So I will try to figure out a way to get my kids to keep the house clean. Like maybe making sure that they empty shoes, cuffed pants, pockets, and shake their hair free of all sand, dust and other outside dirtying particles before entering the house. If I could just do that...and then I will know that this is ‘idiot neurotic talk’ because even if I could, it won’t solve the dust bunny issue.

The kicker will be that none of this really matters. If I just focus on me, on my dream, I could have the house keeper. And that last part will get me and I will resolve to focus. Then I will realize all the focusing will have to wait till tomorrow because I just cleaned and guilted myself out of my time and now I have to go pick up the kids.

Today however, I DID NOT GO THERE! Today was a triumph because I, Kim Hamer walked past that dirty toilet ALL day and didn’t stop. I didn’t even break my stride. Now I sit here, focusing my attention on my writing, on telling my story and removing this suffocating mask of motherhood and its unrealistic images. I changed a habit and a thought pattern. I truly believe that those toilets don’t reflect who I am. I believe in it so much that today, I broadcast to whomever reads this, “I have dirty toilets in my house and I don’t care!”

I hope I will hear applause.