Choosing Denial

I despise dirty stoves.
Dirty counter tops get to me too, as do dirty dishes and pots. And I loathe clutter.
But nothing gets under my skin quite like a grimy stove. 

And yet, this morning, my stove is dirty.
I see it, but I pretend that I don’t.
Instead, I see my 17-month old in his high chair waiting to be fed his lunch. 
I see my baby on his playmat who will need to be changed soon. 
And as a freelancer who works from home, I see my computer screen beckoning for the moment the babies are settled when I can give my work some attention. 

I try to get two hours of work in before the bigger kids come home, if there’s any way I can.
And that means that every minute counts.
I cannot afford the few minutes that cleaning the stove will take, especially since, once I get started, I’d easily get pulled into a fifteen minute cleaning spree. 

So it remains until the cleaning lady arrives tomorrow.

I tell myself that in an ideal world, I’d have a housekeeper.
I’d have a house at least twice the size of mine (read: lots of storage), along with someone hired to keep it clean and tidy, do the laundry, and organize the closets.
Maybe they would help me with dinner prep too. And the shopping. 

So. much. shopping. 

Actually, shopping would probably need someone else. I’d have to have a dedicated shopper on staff.
First they’d do the weekly grocery shopping, and the biweekly household restock.
They’d help me keep the kids wardrobes up to date, throwing out the items that are ruined, packing away what they’ve grown out of, and restocking socks and tights as needed. They’d keep track of the kids’ clothing and shoe sizes and find a nice pair to order online when their old shoes get too small or the Velcro stops sticking. They’d pick up yom tov clothes a good few weeks ahead of time and make sure we have new socks and matching bows for the girls and yarmulkas for the boys.

Ok, maybe that’s not a full-time job. 
So they could be the cook too. It would be a cook/shopper person.
They’d prepare us healthy, delicious meals that are simple enough for the kids to handle but with enough flavor for us grown-ups to enjoy. With a soup and salad on the side, and warm, fresh bread. 
That sounds really good. 

And me? 
I’d get to watch the kids, help them with their homework, and teach them about the parsha. Feed the baby. Read them a book or two. Teach them checkers and backgammon. Watch their puppet shows. Play mental math games with them. Do their school projects about their name and their family. Help them fill out their Tzivos Hashem missions. Burp the baby. Drive them to a friend for a playdate. Take them to the park. Teach them to brush their teeth. Rock the baby to sleep.

Notice I didn’t say baths or pajamas? 
I’d need a mother’s helper for that. I mean, there’s six of them, you know?
Even just watching them can be a two-person project.
It would be amazing.

But then I remember.
I don’t live in that world.
It’s all one big, sweet fantasy.
In the real world, it’s all on me.

Boom! Crash! 
Did you hear that?

But I’m ok. 
This wonderful fantasy gives me comfort. It reminds me that in fact, it is too much work for one person.

And so I need to choose:
Which tasks will happen and which will not. 
Which are the most important?
Which do I need to hire someone else to do, even if it’s not for nearly as much time as I could use them for?

Well, my stove doesn’t have a memory. And it doesn’t have feelings either. It won’t hold it against me that I neglected it for some time. 
The stove can wait for the twice-weekly cleaner. 
And I’ll just keep pretending I don’t see it. Ewww.

The shopping and the dinner? 
Well, I’ll have to find shortcuts. I’ll do my best, shop on my phone when I have a minute, lean in to my husband and partner in crime to do the things he can fit into his schedule. 

Our dinners won’t be gourmet. Sometimes we’ll run out of stuff, and borrow from a neighbor till we can make it to the store. My closets won’t be that organized.

But my kids will know that I love them. 

They’ll know that I chose each and every one of them over a clean and tidy house, which (as they’ll surely find out one day) is really so important to me. 

They’ll know that their needs are important, because in fact, they are not just my children, but G-d’s children, who deserve my personal attention above all else. 

Including that horrible grimy stove that I’m pretending isn’t there. 

Sometimes, denial can be a great tool.