Adventures in Chores, Clutter, and Creative Avoidance
I’ve never been one for domesticity.
Sure, I’m a mom, a homeowner, and a wife. But when it comes to homemaking? I’m… not exactly thriving.
Don’t get me wrong. I keep our lives moving. I’m the budgeter, the bill-payer, the appointment-maker, the Google Docs queen. I juggle calendars and make a million phone calls a week. But all of that comes with a trade-off: there’s not a lot of time (or energy) left for becoming the next Pioneer Woman.
Not only do I not know how to do most of the classic “homemaker” things… I just don’t enjoy them.
How do you fold a fitted sheet? No idea. I ball it up and stuff it in the closet like any rational person would. Works fine for me.
Make the bed every morning? Why? I’m just going to get back in it later. That five minutes is better spent scrambling to get to work on time.
Cooking and baking? Pass. The mess alone makes my skin crawl. Crockpots are fine. Touching raw meat? Absolutely not.
Pinterest mom? Ha. I’m more of a “order a pizza, throw together a three-ingredient dip, bake an ugly cake, forget the decorations” kind of mom. The kids don’t care anyway.
As for the house itself…
Let’s just say there’s usually at least one disaster zone at any given moment. I drool over home decor magazines and minimalist Pinterest boards — but in real life, there’s a thin layer of dust on everything and clutter in every corner. Laundry sits in the dryer too long and wrinkles. Stuff piles up on tables because there’s nowhere else for it to go. The counters? Let’s just say the cupboards have started overflowing.
This is what life looks like in a small-ish house with a growing family. Maybe that’s why I check real estate listings weekly, dreaming of bigger closets and fewer piles.
I don’t garden.
Laundry is my nemesis.
Sticky fingerprints cover most surfaces.
I regularly Google things like “how to clean vomit from a couch” and “best tub scrubbing hacks.” None of this comes naturally to me.
And yet… despite my anti-domestic instincts, my OCD tendencies mean I have to try. Because while I can tolerate clutter, I can’t stand chaos. If I don’t make some effort to keep things in order, my anxiety kicks in hard.
As I’ve written in my Clutter Chronicles, I actually find it satisfying to pare down and get organized — once I start. It’s a work in progress, but it is in progress. Domesticated Steph? We’re getting there.
When Jerry switched to a daytime schedule, my domestic side had to step up. Suddenly, he was home for dinner… which meant I finally had to learn how to cook. And let me tell you — it’s been a journey.
I always tell him, “See? It’s not that I didn’t know how to cook or couldn’t cook… I just never cared enough to try.” Truth bomb. Now every time I make a new meal, I puff out my chest and ask if he’s proud of me. (He is. Probably because he’s eating something that didn’t come out of a frozen bag.)
I find myself doing dishes nightly, reorganizing the kitchen with a kind of precision that would impress Marie Kondo. And don’t even get me started on how my eye twitches when someone puts something back in the wrong drawer. (Ahem. Jerry.)
Decor-wise, I’ve always loved rustic and primitive styles, but during maternity leave, I finally started leaning into it. Seasonal decorating has become a low-key joy: Halloween, fall, Thanksgiving, Christmas. I rotate everything out and get ridiculously proud when things look just right. (Of course, then a bright red toy microwave ends up in front of a carefully arranged pumpkin display, but whatever. I try.)
Now that I’m deep into decluttering — currently, the laundry room — I’m seeing progress. The kitchen is already there: everything in its place, no exceptions. And if I can get the rest of the house to match that vibe? Dream achieved.
I’ll never be Suzie Homemaker.
I’m not baking from scratch. I’m not deep-cleaning grout with a toothbrush.
But I’m learning. I’m trying. I’m doing better than I ever thought I would.
And hey — once I finally dust off these bookshelves?
We’re calling it a win.
(Wait... do we even own a duster?)
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