Sisyphus Only Had One Boulder (I Have Four)

I love a clean house. No clutter, no mess, vacuumed rugs, mopped floors, wiped counters.

My family is the opposite. My wife LOVES dishes in the sink (I can only assume based on behavior). Zeke leaves his basketball and sneakers and slides and uniforms on every surface. Gabi has been doing science experiments in the kitchen for the past week, leaving a trail of hardened bread starter on the counter every night. Soup the dog loves sticks and brings one into the hallway and chews it to pieces, leaving a mess of bark (no pun intended) behind.

It’s almost like my full time job is following my family around and cleaning up after them. Not once, not from time to time, but every day. I walk in the door after a long day of work and find the same chaos I cleaned up that morning. I put the basketball back in the garage; it migrates to the dining room. I wipe down the counter; new experiments appear. I arrange the slides by the door; they teleport to the living room. I throw out yesterday’s stick; Soup curates a new one by morning. Sisyphus only had one boulder. I have four.

But I know how temporary this all is. One day I’ll win. The house will stay clean.

In just a few years, I’m going to come home to a perfectly clean house, just like I left it. No dirty underwear on the floor, no spilled ketchup on the couch, no chewed up slippers. The basketball will stay in the garage. The kitchen will stay clean. The hallway will be silent, no clicking of dog nails, no trail of bark. I’ll walk through rooms that echo, where everything is exactly where I left it, and I will ache for the mess. I’ll want to trip over those slides. I’ll want to scrub that bread starter. I’ll want evidence that people I love are here, living, making their marks.

One day, sooner than I can imagine, I’ll come home to order and cleanliness. And I’m going to feel oh so sad.