Sour cream and the meaning of life

I'm beginning to realize that part of the job description for a mother is accepting chaos.

Before having Miss Dub, I erroneously thought that I would be managing chaos. I knew there would be diaper explosions and temper tantrums and huge messes, but I thought I could handle them; that by the end of each day, poop would be properly disposed of, tantrums would be calmed and messes would be tidied.

Oh, but what a fool I was. I also thought that Miss Dub would sleep through the night by 12 weeks, eat vegetables with a vengeance by 10 months and memorize all her animals noises by a year. And let me tell you, her cow sounds strangely like a lamb. I mean, what did I do wrong?

Also, the house just doesn't stay clean. Books go on the bookshelf, books come off the bookshelf. Toys go in the basket, toys come out of the basket. And poop sometimes shows up in the most surprising places.

I'm not a huge cleaning freak, though I am fastidious, but I am an organization freak. Like, the kind that belongs in a circus featuring stacked papers and filing systems. I like things put away in their proper place, so much so that I nearly had a panic attack the other day when I realized that the sour cream had fallen from its appointed spot in our fridge. I had to fix it, even if it meant keeping a tantrum-throwing Miss Dub waiting; even if it meant being late to a get-together.

But I can't always fix the sour cream.

Sometimes, as a mother, I have to leave the sour cream on its side on the wrong shelf.

Because sometimes you can't keep the house clean, and you shouldn't because there are more important things like playing with your children, or leaving yourself enough time to drive the speed limit.

And sometimes you can't micromanage your children, and you shouldn't because they have to make their own choices, which will ultimately teach them to stand up for what they believe.

I mean, the people who manage chaos the best are often the most stressed people I know. Even though their homes are clean and their children are safe, they are overwhelmed by the level of perfection they feel compelled to maintain.

And I'm on that road with my sour cream-straightening, house-cleaning, chaos-controlling desires. And as much as I really, really like the idea of order, I think I better start embracing some chaos if I ever want to feel peace.

But don't purposely put the sour cream in the wrong place. That's just cruel.