rebel yell

I spent a lot of my life inadvertently rebelling against my mother. If you'd asked me, I would have said "No way!" but it's only now that I've realised that a lot of the things I do, I do because my mother didn't do.

When I was growing up our house was always gorgeous. Very fashionable, very clean, very tidy. Our living room was the height of 70s chic - with one wall entirely coated in mirror tiles, deep green modular couches and white carpet. Ye. White carpet. You know what you can do on white carpet? Almost nothing. You could walk on it - in clean feet or clean socks. You couldn't eat or drink on it. Sometimes I wished I could levitate, so I didn't worry about smearing it. 

The kitchen was also very chic, with a white mosaic tile benchtop and splashback - with matching white grout. Now, luckily my mother was a Virgo, so she was keen on clean, and those white surfaces always sparkled under her ministrations. However, I obviously always swore I wouldn't have a house like that. 

See, I refuse to let anyone take off their shoes at my front door, as it always brings flashbacks to that damned white carpet. When we moved into this house, our daughter used to ride her trike up and down the hallways, scratching the floorboards - but adding more character. Food's often eaten at a table, or on the couch in front of the TV - whatever's easiest.

However, being slothful and messy isn't rebellion - it's silly and only impacts on the person who has to live in it. So now, I'm 99 per cent sure I've turned the corner on messiness. These days it's normal for me to put something back where it belongs, immediately. The dishwasher's unloaded as soon as it's finished, and washed dishes are left to dry for no more than half a day before I pack them all away. It's a much nicer life - and I still feel like we've got a lived in and loved in home. It's still pretty gorgeous, but it's worn around the edges. Which is just the way I like it.