03/02/2025
Letās be realāparenting is just glorified housekeeping with a side of snack distribution. The dishes multiply faster than rabbits, laundry breeds in the dark, and if youāve ever stepped on a rogue Lego at 2 AM, youāve probably questioned all your life choices. Itās easy to get irritated, to feel like youāre the unpaid janitor of a tiny, ungrateful kingdom. But hear me outāwhat if we saw these never-ending chores as privileges instead of punishments?
I try to remind myself of this when Iām scraping dried ketchup off the counter (why do they treat it like an art medium?) or finding socks in places socks should never be. Instead of muttering about how no one else in this house knows what a laundry basket is, I pray. As I fold my sonās shirts, I ask God to protect him, provide for him, and help him grow into the person heās meant to be. As I match my daughterās socks (well, the ones that didnāt get sacrificed to the dryer gods), I pray for her future.
Now, I know some parents are reading this thinking, Yeah, I pray tooāthat I donāt lose my mind when they leave a cup of milk in their room until it turns into a science experiment. And I get it. I have those moments too. But when I shift my mindset, when I remind myself that the mess means life is happening under my roof, it changes everything. The dirty dishes? Proof that my family is fed. The never-ending laundry? A reminder that my kids are here, living, growing, and still needing me (even if they pretend otherwise). The trail of shoes, backpacks, and snack wrappers? Okay, thatās still annoying, but at least it means they feel safe and at home.
One day, my house will be clean. And quiet. And Iāll probably wish I could step on one more Lego or fold one more pair of tiny, inside-out pants. So until then, Iāll embrace the chaos, say a prayer, and keep scrubbing dried spaghetti sauce off the walls (seriously, how does it get there?).