Here is the real beginning— I, once again, for the 1576th afternoon in a row aimlessly walk around the house picking things up and putting them in their place. Everything has its place—a mantra for the organized parent, no, let’s be honest: the organized mother. Everything has a place. Does this toy packaging that I have kicked back into the closet yet again—this cut up toy packaging that my daughter begged us to save for reasons not clear—Does this toy have a place? Is the lower shelf of the linen closet—designated “the keeping place” by my burgeoning hoarder— the right home for this object? Does it spark joy for me? Does it spark joy for her?

I am lost, clearly. So, I stop, and look online. There is a better way to do this. There is a better way to be an accidental stay at home mom. 

I find a podcast that imbues me with a sense of hope. “A beautiful mess,” it’s called, and yes, that is what I have been missing. (Cue false epiphany smile.) That is what my home is! It’s beautiful, because of course children are beautiful, and it’s a mess, clearly. It’s ok to have a mess! Mess is life! Mess is beauty!

Later, I listen to the podcast while sitting on my disabled feline foster failure’s floor bed feeding my four month old to sleep. This podcast is not about moms with messy houses. This, like other podcasts about domestic topics, features helpful tips and DIY solutions. This may be beautiful, but it is not a mess, and even if these moms do have messy homes, they have jobs, they have careers, they have moderate successes and a place in the world, outside of their kitchen and living room. 

This prompts a new search, and I come across another podcast called “The simple farmhouse life.” I search the feed and am mystified. The podcaster has 6, no 7 children. And, in spite of this, she has enough agency to create things. 

I am not this person, and 2 episodes later, I bid her farewell, wishing her the best, yet realizing she has nothing to offer me. 

It’s not like there’s not honesty out there. It is 2022, and it’s not like the disgruntled mother and wife has never had anything to say. It’s not like she’s never put anything out there in the world. 

But, usually these mothers have found a sense of purpose in something else. Usually these mothers have a (I’ll give myself a trigger warning here because this word does something to me) career. Or maybe they have a vibrant social life. Maybe they drink. Maybe they have filled their home with foster animals so at least they can provide solace for pets who have suffered (I did do this! But, alas, the giving up of the animals began to take its toll, so our last foster, Jill, remains.)

So, here I am. Am I failing? Have I failed? Maybe you have an opinion. (Note: please don’t tell me)