I’m going to say something that might be controversial: Having a perfectly tidy home isn’t the ultimate goal of being a wife and mom, at least not for me.
Throughout my early years as a mother, I didn’t have much in terms of home decor. Our apartment featured toys on side tables and preschool art adorning the walls. It wasn’t exactly magazine-worthy. As my kid got older, I decorated a bit more, but my floor was covered in little green men having battles. The dining room table was a fort. The kitchen sink had snack dishes, and the counters were dotted with homemade popsicle juice. The extra bedroom was a school room and craft room. I had a few curated shelves, but not many.
As my son grew older, our lives were filled with science projects, math and reading books, and impromptu movie nights on the family room floor, complete with air mattresses.
We entertained, and no one talked about the "mess". Their houses had toys and pets, too. If we were judging each other, I didn't notice.
Every day, the counters were wiped clean, the beds were made, meals were cooked, and the bathrooms were cleaned. Twice a year, we decluttered and deep-cleaned the house. Despite these efforts, it wasn’t always perfect.
As my son was around high school age and I had most of the day to myself, the house was cleaner. My dining room hutch was decorated, and I had art and shelves on the walls of the house. The kitchen sink stayed empty longer. Was it like my grandmother’s immaculate and well-curated home? No, it wasn’t.
Friday nights and Saturday mornings were filled with football gear and stadium blankets. On school days, the dining room table served as my son’s study table, while the couch was reserved for spontaneous naps. For about two hours on Friday afternoon, the house was clean, tidy, and quiet. I enjoyed those two hours.
Even now, my husband and our adult son fill the kitchen sink with food prep and lunch containers, plus dishes from late-night snacks. The entryway is lined with shoes—tennis shoes, work shoes. My slip-ons are right there with them. Beds are made, and the fridge is filled with food. My office is cluttered with projects and Christmas gifts.
When we sit down for a rare family meal, I don't care if the house is perfect. All I care about is that we are here together, safe and sound. My son's laughter fills the house; my husband's "dad jokes" make us groan and sigh, and the dog is barking at a leaf outside in the yard. That is all that matters to me.
I’d rather hang out with my guys than clean until I’m exhausted. We can go thrift shopping, take walks with our dog, and watch movies together. And we can do it just fine with a tidy but not perfect house.
I won't lie on my deathbed and say I wish I had a perfectly clean house that looked like it belonged in some magazine or home decor Instagram page. I’ll know I’ve created cherished memories with my family and embraced the chaotic beauty of life.
Join me in lowering our expectations just enough to savor the time we spend with our families. I’ve heard that for a few years, things can be “perfect,” but then grandchildren arrive, and the windows have nose prints, and the bathroom mirrors are covered in toothpaste spray.
What are your thoughts on having a perfectly tidy home?





































