Proof.

Photographic evidence that Audra has teeth. I know you were wondering. We were, too.

Secret shame.

Being a working mom is really hard.

And so is being a stay at home mom. Don't think this is going to be one of those pointless posts where someone tries to make the case for one over the other. I've read my share of those and I seriously can't believe people keep trying to win that argument. Ain't gonna happen, folks. We're all moms and we're all working our tails off. Let. It. Go.

While I fully admit there are big perks to having a full-time job outside the home — uninterrupted computer time, daily interaction with other adults, extra income, and eight hours of freedom from the hands of another human being — there are a few things about my schedule that make life challenging. The most important one, of course, is missing out on time with my son. That's heartbreaking, and I totally get why people say they stay home because their kids are only little for so long. I do feel sadness and guilt over missing out on large chunks of my son's childhood. But this is what works for our family, and it is what it is.

The second is lack of time. I don't have enough time to do anything. And I mean ANYTHING. I follow the same exact schedule Monday through Friday:

6:30am: Drag myself out of bed.
6:30am to 8am: Get ready. Drop Calvin off. Drive to work.
8am to 5pm: Work. Eat. Work some more.
5pm to 6pm: Leave work, pick Calvin up from school, get home.
6pm to 7pm: Figure out dinner, play with Calvin, eat dinner.
7pm to 8pm: Bath, books, put Calvin to bed.
8pm to 10pm: Clean kitchen, do laundry, collapse on couch.
10pm: Drag myself into bed.

Rinse and repeat. Except for Tuesdays, when my in-laws come over to give me a break at night.

I literally have two hours (three if you count my lunch break, which is typically utilized for errand running) a day to get things done. Unfortunately, by that point in the day my son is in bed, my husband is probably at work, and I'm exhausted. Truly, there aren't enough hours in the day to tackle my "should dos" or even my "need to dos" after checking off the "must dos" — which are currently limited to working and tending to the basic needs of my family. And on the weekends my priority is spending time with Calvin and Nate, not mopping my floors and going to the post office.

I think the thing that appeals most to me about staying home — besides the obvious benefit of caring for your children — is the flexibility. The ability to run errands. Make a decent dinner. Throw in a load of laundry. Pick up the house. Use nap time to accomplish something. Of course I realize being home is equally (if not more) exhausting, that you can't spend all your time cleaning and running errands when you're home with your kids, and that doing those things with kids in tow is no easy task (plus cleaning with kids is pretty much pointless because it will just be messy again two minutes later), but having the option to do those things during the day would be nice. I can't do any of that from work, and yet it still needs to get done at some point.

Basically, I'm romanticizing life at home and using work as a big, fat excuse for my lack of productivity. And now you'll see why.

The Abby who started this blog back in 2008 had a house that looked like this:



And the Abby you know today has a house that looks like this:


You know that whole "clean kitchen" line on my little schedule? Yeah. That's on a good night. So is the laundry. More often than not, I put Calvin to bed, take a shower (because it gives me five extra minutes of sleep in the morning), put my pjs on, and sink into the couch. I might shove everything in the sink or load the dishwasher, but I rarely have the energy to clean the entire kitchen. And right now I wait until I'm almost out of clean underwear to do laundry.

Oh, and my bathroom? Yeah, don't even ask. I used to be completely militant about cleaning it from top to bottom before anyone came over, lest there be a stray piece of hair on the floor or vanity. Now my in-laws come over weekly and kneel on the floor to give my son a bath and I don't even remember to put a hand towel up before they arrive...much less vacuum or mop the floor. Full disclosure: Half the time Nate and I dry our hands on the shower curtain.

Three years ago I never would have admitted these shortcomings to a soul, much less the entire blogosphere. I worked really hard to maintain the illusion that housekeeping comes naturally to me. It doesn't. Obviously. I am a slob of the highest order. Yet for the longest time I knocked myself out trying to keep my house clean, because I thought an orderly house equaled a happy home.

You know what? It doesn't.

I discovered this important truth once I accepted the fact that I no longer have the time, energy, or desire to maintain my previous housekeeping standards. While my home may be a complete disaster 90% of the time, it's happier than it's ever been. And so am I.

Though I'm not sure happiness is a good enough excuse for failing to hang up a hand towel. I'll try to squeeze that in somewhere.