My house is messy. Try as I might, I can’t keep up with the little wrappers, the random toys, the dirty clothes my kids have strewn about. I hope that one day (oh dear God, PLEASE, someday) that my kids will automatically pick up their stuff and put it away like I try to. I’m also kind of lazy, though, so I don’t scrub the floors or the bathtub as often as probably most. I ignore my kids’ room as long as I can, because I don’t have an entire day or the energy to spend on the project. (Because of course, ignoring it makes it so much worse. It’s a vicious cycle.) (I mean, there are easily a thousand Legos in there. Probably more like 2000. And 27 ponytail holders no matter how many times I tell those girls to take their ponytails out before bed. And 112 Barbie dolls. And 499 stuffed animals.)

(My husband would argue that I never pick up my shoes and slippers. I would argue that it’s because I take them off when I sit down and put them back on when I stand up. Because the floor is just dirty enough, because kids.)

That’s not to say I don’t make my kids pick their stuff up and put it away. It’s just that they don’t if I don’t make them, and pretty soon there are random things all over the house, not put away.

Maybe it’s because of all this that I don’t intentionally make more mess.

I hate Play-Doh and the hard crusty bits it leaves behind (thank goodness that it’s not gluten free and I have an excuse to not get it out).

I’d rather do the dishes than say “yes” when someone asks me if they can paint.

We haven’t carved pumpkins in years (I allow paint for that, yes, and Sharpies or those plastic Mr. Potato Head things you poke in).

Maybe I’m a Scrooge, but if I already have to clean up after my kids all day every day or risk losing my damn mind, can you blame me?

Raise your hand if you’re in the lazy but cleanest-in-your-house camp, too. (I can’t be alone, right?)