My house is rarely ever all the way clean. I get to parts of it just to have the other parts messed up again by the time I finish another one. Sure, I have the excuse of a 2 year old and working etc. etc.
But the truth is, I like a little bit of a mess. I could do without the clutter, but a shoe here or a toy there, I like it. It makes me feel like we are living in our house.
I will never, ever forget the first time I walked back into our house after being gone for over a month while on hospital bedrest and staying close by Cohen's side in the NICU. It was still our house, but nothing was the same. Everything was, for the most part, exactly as we left it when we walked out that day. But nothing was the same when we came back. It was pieces of our old life that didn't seem to fit with this new life we had.
This may sound strange, but when I turn off the lights and lock the door to leave, I so often think about if something were to happen and we came back to our house as it was, what would it look like to us then? What kind of a picture of our lives would it be that we were coming back to? Would I regret that baby sock hiding under the end table or the lego car in the living room? I don't think I would.
And that's my excuse for being a terrible housekeeper :)