Screw June Cleaver!

So, I heard the other day about this “I’m not June Cleaver” challenge. I thought it was interesting… if not unbelievably stupid. Why anyone would compare themselves to June Cleaver and attempt to be the perfect housewife like that character is beyond me…

See this bitch? Fuck her and her perfect kitchen... 

Anyhow…

I thought about doing it. I really did. And while… yes, it’s an interesting concept… I don’t think it requires a 30 day challenge. Let me explain.

I am fully aware that I am not the perfect housewife or mother. NO ONE is. June Cleaver even wasn’t. Some could speculate that she was stunting her kids’ emotional and mental growth by being television’s first helicopter mom, in a way. My mother was not perfect. My grandmother was not perfect. My aunts are not perfect, I am not perfect, my friend Dee is not perfect.

That said, we’re all still damn good mothers. We all have our faults… My mother was over-clingy. My grandmother had an unhealthy love for all things shoes. (I had SO many shoes growing up…) My friend Dee is well known for burning just about anything she cooks. (Love you girl!) I juggle full time college, motherhood, and housewife duties all in one day… so I’m a little stressed and the housework suffers sometimes. But we all do what’s right by our children.

See this? It's not my house, and my house will NEVER be this clean.

So, are my dishes washed and put away after every meal? No. Sometimes, *gasp*, they stay in the sink until lunchtime the next day! THE HORROR!

Are the beds in the house perfectly made? Not a chance, since Mike and I both sleep like we’re doing Capoeira in our sleep. (Don’t know what it is, google it. Awesome fighting style!)

Is there dust? Yep. Are the floors perfect? Nope.

But my child has all the love she can get her hands on, we play with her, read to her, encourage her creativity, and you know what? My housework can kiss my butt, quality time with my daughter is a thousand times more important than a lemony fresh kitchen ANY day in my book.