Why the Dust Can Wait

I'm standing at the sink, drying dishes, stacking them in neat piles I know will last approximately 2.5 seconds before someone decides to make a "quick snack" that somehow requires every clean dish in the house. My eyes drift to the dust on the light fixtures of my high ceiling. Cleaning it feels like an impossible task. I mean, I could tackle it now, but honestly? I don't have it in me. Besides, who's even looking up there? The kids? Yeah, no... they’re too busy leaving sticky fingerprints everywhere and engaging in philosophical debates about whether the sky is blue or purple. 

Then there's the laundry. Oh, the laundry... that magical self-multiplying entity that breeds when we're not looking. My pre-teen and teen do their own now, after the fifteenth reminder and a detailed negotiation that would put international diplomats to shame about when exactly 'later' means. (Apparently, 'later' translates to 'when Mom threatens to cancel the WiFi.') I used to insist on getting everything done before bed, but these days? The dust can wait. The laundry can wait. The only thing that won't wait is the stash of homemade turtles in the freezer while I contemplate my life choices. Because let's be honest, chocolate trumps housework every single time.

And my husband? He'd help if I asked, he always does. But after a long day at work, the last thing either of us wants to deal with is a dusting mission that would inevitably end with both of us questioning why we care about ceiling dust in the first place. Some battles aren't worth fighting, and this one can definitely wait.

Life is always full. Not full like a satisfying meal, more like trying to juggle flaming torches while riding a unicycle. Between homeschooling, working as a virtual assistant, cleaning a shop twice a week, and running a small online store, some days feel like organized chaos and others just... chaos chaos.

Throw in three kids (13, 11, & 8) who can turn anything, and I mean anything, into a debate topic, and I’m pretty sure “Mom referee” should count as cardio. Today’s great debate? If dogs could talk, what accent would they have? The teen says British, and honestly, I’m inclined to agree.

One day, they’re inseparable, their laughter echoing through the house like the soundtrack to a perfect family moment. Other days, it’s a never-ending loop of “Mom, she’s breathing too loudly!” and “But I called shotgun!” Some days I feel like I've got this whole mom thing figured out, and others? Well, let's just say I've mastered the art of deep breathing.

I came across this quote recently: "Isn't it funny how day by day nothing changes, but when you look back everything is different." —C.S. Lewis.

It hit me because it's so true. Day by day, it feels like I'm treading water, barely keeping up with the chaos around me. But when I look back at pictures of my kids as toddlers, at the little milestones we've celebrated, at the countless bedtime stories I thought would never end—I realize just how much has changed.

The dust on the light fixtures doesn't matter. The laundry will eventually get folded. What matters are the moments—the laughter, the lessons, the little victories that feel so insignificant in the moment but add up to a life well-lived.

I've learned that if life were a straight line, it would mean nothing is happening. No growth, no surprises, no crazy, laugh-'til-you-cry moments. Just a flatline. The highs and lows, the chaos and calm, are what make us alive. Like last week, when my oldest child insisted on making dinner all by himself. The kitchen looked like a tornado hit it, but the pride on his face when he served his slightly burnt but made-with-love pasta? That's the kind of moment that makes the mess worth it.

These ups and downs teach me something new every day—patience, humility, or just the art of letting go. Like last night, when my youngest (yes, the eight-year-old who barely fits) crawled into my lap to help me fold laundry. Suddenly, matching socks became a moment I wanted to freeze in time.

Or this morning, when my middle child made tea for both of us before starting his schoolwork. We sat in silence, and I realized: These are the moments that make up a life—not perfectly dusted light fixtures or empty laundry baskets.

So at the end of the day, try to remember that life isn't meant to be neat, tidy, or predictable. It's messy, exhausting, and ridiculously beautiful all at once. On the quiet days, rest. Let yourself savor the calm. On the busy days, rise to the chaos like the badass mom you are, knowing that the quiet will come again. Because just like a heartbeat, life's rhythm is what makes it precious.

What's the most ridiculous argument your kids have had lately? How do you embrace the highs and lows of motherhood? Drop it in the comments—I want to hear all the messy, beautiful, hilarious details.