Becky’s house is immaculate. Not just clean, but a place of wonder. There is no junk, no clutter; dust and crumbs are whisked away before they hit the floor or an unsuspecting tabletop.

Her four children are all well-trained to hang up backpacks, jackets, towels; to stow away shoes and dirty laundry; to eat without spilling and to rinse the dish and place it in the dishwasher. They’re not repressed. Cookie baking and art projects are also part of their weekly routine, but without the flour explosions and paint spills that inevitably happen at my house.

Last week, my friend Cindy’s husband went to Becky’s house to help move a piece of furniture. Like most mortals, he was awed by the cleanliness and peace in their home. Returning home, he gushed to Cindy about the perfect order, the obedient children, “Maybe you could start with just one room at a time and make our house like that too?” he suggested.

Cindy listened; she stewed; and then replied, “You might as well come home and say, ‘Becky has a really hot body(which she totally does); maybe if you work really hard and put in some extra effort you could look like that too.’”

Yeah, that’s about right.

Few topics cut right to a woman’s soul like her housekeeping abilities. I’m one to claim, “Cleanliness is overrated.” or “We live here; it’s not a museum.” But I still don’t want you peeking in my closet and I cringe when neighbor kids open my fridge and cry, “Ooh, this is a mess.”

Admittedly, my house was a lot cleaner when I had four kids, but I can’t blame my children for my disorganized desk or proclivity for losing keys and cell phones. I’m just easily distracted; there’s always something more interesting to do than dust my bookshelves.

My children do chores. They clean the bathroom and wash the dishes and vacuum the hallways. But I rarely check their work and a definitely don’t redo it as so many women do. And somehow, I would feel like a better mother, a better person if they respected me enough to hang up their backpacks and to throw their socks in the hamper instead of on the kitchen floor(five boys, two socks every day, no way to distinguish them, no wonder I’m going insane).

As women we receive mixed messages. Shall I listen to:

Quiet down cobwebs, dust go to sleep,
I’m rocking my baby and babies don’t keep.

or

“Organize yourselves; prepare every needful thing; and establish a house, even a house of prayer, a house of fasting, a house of faith, a house of learning, a house of glory, a house of order, a house of God;…”

For me, it’s a compromise. I happily put in two hours into housecleaning each day, but I refuse to do the eight hours it would take to keep this place perfectly organized. And I think some of Becky’s organizational skills are a genetic gift(much like her oh-so-toned body). A gift that I admire but don’t need to duplicate in my own life.

What about you? Does your housekeeping give you angst? Do you equate exemplary womanhood with a tidy kitchen? Do you feel judged by your clean or messy surroundings? And how does your level of cleanliness affect your relationships with your roommates, your spouse, your children?