>Coming Home

As I’ve begun traveling for business more and more, I’ve had to come to terms with the state of things at home upon my return.

Despite the fact that I spend hours cleaning before I leave, I come home every single time to a total and complete disaster area. Last year, I took pictures of the house after I returned from BlogHer. I’d say that’s a pretty good depiction of what the house looks like today, after my return last night from three days in San Francisco.

No, strike that. Actually, it’s worse.

Because now, Bruiser is part of the picture. And having a boy, as the old adage goes, changes everything. The mess increases exponentially.

There are food crumbs covering the floors in every room. Chicken nugget boxes under the kitchen table. Stray items of clothing everywhere. Toys in odd little groupings all over the house, wherever Bruiser has decided to play. Empty fruit snack wrappers, bowls and cups on shelves and on the floor of the playroom.

Everything from the laundry closet is still out in the hall, where the repairman left it when he came to fix the washer last Thursday. The kids haven’t had baths and there’s no milk in the refrigerator, our one must-have item. Also, no trash bags, which at this point is a huge problem.

In fairness, Hubs was sick on the last day. But also in fairness, where once I lost it upon arriving home to one hell of a mess, now I keep my calm. It will always be this way when I return. I realize that now.

Some of you have told me Hubs needs to do a better job of cleaning up. In all honesty, he doesn’t realize it’s dirty. He had a mom who always cleaned up after him. He literally doesn’t see a problem. I used to rage against him for this, but now that I’m (slightly!) older and wiser, I can accept it.

Because even though the kids need baths and a change of clothes, they’re happy and well-fed. Either Hubs or my older girls have spent almost every spare moment with them while I was gone. I don’t have to worry about my children when I travel, and I’ll take that over a thousand spotless houses.

Marriage, I’m learning, is about trade-offs. We learn to live with each other’s foibles, and we count our blessings for each other’s strengths. I’ll spend today and tomorrow silently cleaning up the house and restoring everything to order. And I’ll do it with a minimum of grumbling in my head. Because at this moment as I vacuum up the crumbs, Hubs is watching Star Wars with the kids in the playroom. Voluntarily. Not every dad would spend his Saturday like that.

There’s only one negative thought that I can’t quite hold back each time I return home and survey the damage:

I’d better not die any time soon.

This post originally appeared on Parents.com.