Chaos, Clutter and Crumbs, a Messy Family Life

After many years of living abroad, I’ve found myself in the unique situation of moving back in with my parents.

Temporarily, of course, but it’s been a months-long stint with the distinct feeling of returning to roost.

Old patterns and roles have reemerged. I’m not proud that I revert to my sulky teenage self when assigned to a household chore.

Anyway, pool cleaning or dishwashing aside - I don’t mind these that much anyway - I have one aversion that completely overshadows everything else.

Something that does threaten our harmonious co-existence with the people who gave me life is The Mess.

You might think my complaint is linked to delegated tasks and me as an unwilling participant. You’d be wrong.

In actuality, I have a messy family life. I’m not just talking about being somewhat cluttered or not keeping up with regular dusting or spring cleaning. No, we have the collective superpower of creating a mess out of nothing.

A Childhood of Love, Laughter... and Crumbs

My childhood was lovely and warm and lacked nothing crucial. My parents married young and, having been together for nearly 40 years, are clearly in it for the long haul. That's with occasional spats and irregular bouts of silent treatments notwithstanding.

One flaw of an almost problem-free family is that we aren’t neat or organised. We’re all brilliant but don’t aspire to be exceptionally tidy. 

Before I began sleeping over at a friend’s place, messiness fell into the background of our home’s landscape. I was oblivious to it, having no real-life comparisons to other families. 

But once sleepovers commenced, our abode's disarrayed state and messy family life sharpened into focus.

It never stopped me from inviting people to spend the night. Other kids might have noticed but never judged. All that mattered to a group of ten-year-olds was having as much fun as possible, overdoing it on sugar, and repeatedly watching the same movie before going home in a sleep-deprived state. 

But it was challenging not to question other parents’ squeaky clean and polished kitchen counters. Free of scattered bread crumbs, breakfast leftovers, jam-smeared knives, stains and general disorder, it was akin to walking into a foreign land, intriguing, unfamiliar, desirable and unattainable. 

So, my generally unmarred childhood was, sometimes, explosively messy in the best way possible.

Understanding the Why Behind Our Messy Family Life

Living in a progressive household within a conservative, middle-to-upper-class community made our family unique.

Many of my friends’ moms weren’t working or held part-time jobs. But with our mom working as a doctor, cleaning chores didn’t rank nearly as highly as saving lives. You would likely see her brandishing a stethoscope, not a feather duster.

This might explain my messy family life. And while our household thrived on chaos, it wasn't the kind that attracted flies or raised eyebrows. We would do the bare minimum for hygiene but had no interest in becoming neat freaks.

A Day In a Messy Family Life

Living in a full household - parents, student brother, and my husband - means that our waste quickly accumulates. The kitchen in our four-person household bears the brunt of the mess. I don’t know what happens between our regular post-dinner cleanup and breakfast, but the kitchen takes on a disorganised appearance overnight.

Shortly after waking up, I groggily walk into the kitchen for tea, greeted by the remnants of my parents’ morning meal. Every kitchen surface, strewn with discarded apple cores, shells of boiled eggs, and yogurty smears, resembles an impressionistic painting... busy, colourful, chaotic and challenging to rest your eyes on just one element.

After being overwhelmed by the breakfast battlefield, I make feeble attempts to clean up, knowing that any efforts will be thwarted well before lunchtime. With my dad working from home and my student brother back for the holidays, one almost has to trail after them with a brush and pan or laundry hamper. Well, almost.

You might also observe the clutter if you’re new to our home. However, if you’re one of us, you grow accustomed to a messy family life. We own many curiosities and random treasures lodged or stuffed wherever there’s a vacant spot. Several of these items hold sentimental value, while others, we can’t inexplicably can’t throw away.

And while messes of several kinds plague our home, the biggest gripe of the lot is the collection of half-drunk cups scattered around the house and abandoned in unexpected and hidden spaces - including around the bath.

And Now Me, the Hypocrite

While I might seem the long-suffering martyr of messes, I cannot claim to be the only innocent culprit among clutterbugs. The irony isn't lost on me. I might dream about being like Marie Condo, but the reality is that I contribute to the mess.

Sure, I maintain a tidy kitchen, but a scan of my bedroom and you'll quickly realise I'm no domestic goddess.

Instead, I believe in the concept of "contained messes". My philosophy is to keep your private abode as messy as you like; just don't let it spill into communal areas.

Now, onto my confessions: I'm a hogger of damp towels desperately needing a wash. In addition, toothpaste I've failed to wash away dries to the bathroom sink. While I swear by folded clothes, they often land bunched up on the floor in a morning panic over what to wear. My husband, raised in a meticulous and neat family, might joke about my "slob-like" behaviour. But he's not perfect, either.

And while I might be keenly self-aware of the mess I make, making changes is another beast entirely. Wish me luck as I enter the "new year, new me" era of 2024. Hopefully, my resolutions list won't get spilled on this year.

How Mess Impacts My Adult Life

For me, a dirty dish is more than a memory of delicious leftover pasta; it activates time-sensitive tantrums. My husband knows this all too well.

It’s an overblown pet peeve. One plate in the sink is a blip on the radar, while a collection of unwashed pots, pans and things fray my nerves. However, the most significant act of betrayal is delaying doing the dishes (if it’s your turn) for the next day.

Sure, sometimes it’s late, and the greasy pile of dishes aren’t going anywhere. But that’s the impact of growing up in a household where dishes never stayed clean for long.

But again, I'm no image of perfection either. I've collected a bunch of undesirable childhood habits that can't seem to be unlearned. Continuously having to close bottle lids properly because I’ve let them unscrewed contributes to my husband’s grey hairs.

But Say Something, Dammit!

My family does have a few underlying issues requiring professional help. We’re often conflict-avoidant and hugely sensitive, especially regarding our messiness.

A remark about a dirty dish is never just about a messy dish but feels like an attack on one's character or an exposé of one's failings. That's because we feel humiliated, regret our untidiness, and don't like our dirty laundry being aired.

Ironically, though, we’re all in a state of denial. We know we’re not the tidiest family alive, yet we all believe each other to be messier, permitting us to downplay our individual messiness.

But with that said, a hierarchy exists in our family. At the highest level is my brilliant doctor mom, who is nearly as untidy as a teenager, with the results of her culinary creations mirroring the aftermath of battle. Not even the floors are safe, with breakfast leftovers, like bloodied and dismembered soldiers, strewn and smudged into the concrete floors, awaiting eventual cleanup.

Next comes my younger brother - an academically brilliant and well-rounded human whose bedroom resembles an abandoned library. Think dust-covered books are everywhere you look, alongside collections of dirty cups and crockery in various states of decomposition. And on those rare days when you find it freshly vacuumed and remotely clean, look inside his wardrobe. Clothes, blankets, shoes and bedsheets are stuffed into disorganised bundles.

My dad and I are neck-and-neck in this messy Olympics. He boasts about being way neater than my mom - admittedly not the highest bar - only he’s not waaay neater. Although my mom is responsible for impressive culinary explosions, my dad can sometimes be sloppy, leaving a cooking oil sheen on seemingly everything in the kitchen.

As for myself, I cook neatly, but I'm lazy and don't wait around to clean dishes coated in layers of grime. Delegation in the kitchen is the name of the game!

And finally, my sister. Once labelled the least messy family member growing up, she's not as tidy as we thought. However, our loose definition of what it means to be orderly turns out: "Don't leave dirty socks lying in the kitchen" doesn't fit society's description. She has flaws - like accumulating clutter and keeping twenty-year-old clothes in her wardrobe (Jess, the 90s want their dungarees back, please).

Reflections, Celebrating Messy Families Why write about a messy kitchen, forgotten teacups and crumb-covered floors? Are these passive-aggressive grumbles or an attempt at changing the future?

It’s nothing but a written reminder to look beyond the dust motes and piles of clutter in celebration of a one-of-a-kind family. That kitchen, our messy haven, holds a lifetime of memories and conversations over coffee-stained mugs.

It’s also a gentle nudge to stop fussing about dishes and enjoy life's best moments ~ as long as an army of cockroaches doesn’t descend, we don’t have much to worry about.

So, forget about the dishes and raise a (not-so-clean) glass to appreciate my messy family and yours, dear reader.