(or “Holy Cow, I Can See My Floor!”)

Being of an anal-retentive nature, this is something that sends me into the depths of depression on a daily basis. I have no sanctuary in my home that is free from crumbs, smudges, small plastic toys and other kiddie debris. Some days I have to ask myself, “If Child Protective Services made a visit today, would my children be taken from me?” Mourning my lost youth, my lost freedom and my lost mind compares nothing to the loss of an orderly house. My mother often reminds me that this period is brief, so I really try to relax.

I remember back about seven years ago, when a friend’s five-year-old received a Barbie jet plane for Christmas. Poor Patti ranted for weeks that the blasted gift came with a million tiny ice cubes for Sky Waitress Barbie to dispense amongst her passengers. In those blissfully ignorant, childless days, I privately thought that Patti needed to get a grip. If only I’d had a looking glass into my frightening future, I would have consoled my friend with every fiber of my being. If there’s one thing experience has taught me it’s that toys with numerous pieces are the enemy.

One benefit of this general state of clutter is that you acquire ninja-like reflexes. Picture this: it’s 1:45 a.m. and the baby has just awoken you from your Mommy Coma. From an exhaustion-induced haze, you navigate your way around a Thomas the Train ride-on toy, child-size drum set and 4,000 toddler Legos to safely seat yourself (and a yowling infant) in the rocker in the pitch black!  Unfortunately, these reflexes don’t always translate to all facets of your life as the baby often ends up with the bottle nipple up her nose before you find her mouth.

The other day, as I watched home videos of B-Dogg at five months old, I had to pause the DVD and embrace the television set. In the background of the shot I noticed my end tables were made entirely of glass, pictures stood invitingly on top and glossy books were neatly stacked below. I glanced back at my current family room to see wooden tables with no sharp corners and toys covering every square inch of the floor. For the love of corn, I didn’t even remember that my carpet was beige! My family room has officially been transformed from a rec room to a wreck room.

In all seriousness, I’ve read many articles, quotes and self-help books that say to never sacrifice time with your children for a clean house. I couldn’t agree with this more (especially since I’m about six years away from a clean house and probably don’t have a choice in the matter).

Give us your suggestions on how you keep up with your cleaning or how you make amends with the disarray that has become your home…