The thing about 'Making Memories'...

There was a time when I was known (dreaded) to keep a tight leash around the house to keep it looking prim and tidy. Days when I would painstakingly fluff all the cushions in the house before hitting the bed. 'Who is visiting us in the middle of the night?', husband would quip. And I would shake my head in annoyance and mutter, 'you would never understand!'

Today I yearn to revisit those days. I long to run my fingers once again through those impeccably tucked edges of my bedsheets, those thoroughly dusted window sills, obedient cushions that would never leave their spot, and crisp gauzy curtains that once used to adorn my home.  

Take 2. Tampa. Present Day. 

If you were to descend on our current home, you would take it for a place hit by a violent tornado minutes back, and its inhabitants, desperately looking for help. This version of our home is very akin to the one my husband had envisioned. He had been diligently working towards achieving this feat alone, only to be accompanied on this journey by our very own daughter! Sigh.....! And to think that I have been sharing a roof with this man all these years! And that, now there is one more to add to my misery!

This state of affairs had crept in to my life when my wee little baby had suddenly transformed into a tyrant of a toddler. Ever since that transformation happened, every single morning I find myself waking up to a carnage of stuffed toys, building blocks, books, papers, used bottles, cushions, and other odd and ends. This chaos has spread so far and wide in my house that one needs to stride over this pile in gigantic footsteps to make it to the other side of the room. The best part is that this heap of playthings multiply so rapidly that you can barely keep track of the old from the new. And despite this, it's the tea strainer or the ladle, alternately, that attracts the kid’s attention over her toys. No fancy toy can distract her enough to part with these beloved items of my kitchen that go missing mysteriously in the mayhem. And adding more misery to the already hapless situation, the darned building blocks sneak under your foot every now and then, to send you seeing stars in wide daylight! 

I totally get it that these messy days are counted, and that all this will soon be in the past. And I know enough to understand that I will only have these memories to hang on to then. But I can so use a break right now, you know, not for too long, just a brief brush with neatness, that’s all I am asking for. So what happens when guests decide to show up? What happens is, mommy dives into this heap, summoning all her super powers, and runs in the speed of lightening to hide the shame behind deceptive doors. Only to find the house creeping back to its doomed state all over again once the charade is lifted.

As far as the man of the house goes, lesser said is better. In one of our recent conversations with friends, the topic veered towards how organized each one of us are. My ears popped out naturally to hear what the husband had to say to this. Almost on an instinct, I adjusted my neck readying the venom to be spitted out his way. I found it funny how, despite his temptation to say he after all is a very organized person ( and this build up is nothing but a farce), he stole a sidelong glance at me, and changed his mind at the last minute. Pursing my lips to stop a sly smile from slipping, ‘Good call!’, I gestured at him. I mean who would want to invite the wrath of a wife who could rattle out 10 instances against his one to prove her point and prove him wrong?

But I must say, this current version of me is a far cry from the person I once used to be. That girl could faint twice over at the current state of my house, even judge me perhaps, for such apathy. But not this one. This person has come too far in life to be fussing over cleaning and tidying and losing her sleep over it. Besides, what is the point of clearing up mess when the harmony lasts for barely few peaceful hours when the kid is sleeping? So instead, I choose to positively remain unfazed by any of this. And every single time that anxious girl insists to come out, I shoosh her down, and say, ‘Let it be. My daughter is making.....mess.....eeeerrrmmm....I mean....memories, you see."

So to making memories then, to breaking all rules, to turning a blind-eye to mess, and to re-inventing yourself, in this case, it would be me, turning my back on tidiness.