My Problem with Pride

Knock, Knock.

Who’s There?


Oh, friends, it’s that time of the year. Almost time to do some major Spring Cleaning around the house. But, more importantly, it’s time for me to take a nice hard look at my own house – my mind. (Read this OLD post to know what I mean.)

Over the last few months, I’ve had a few people ask me why I don’t just hire some help? I had help for seven years while living in underdeveloped countries. Why wouldn’t I just find someone here, too?

The obvious answers – after I feel a little offended that my house must not be up to par for someone to ask such an unsolicited question – include:

  • It was much more affordable in Africa and Central Asia then in Europe! (So true; instead, I could use that money to buy a new pair of designer shoes every month! My husband is thankful I didn’t, though.)
  • Having others help me with the kids and cleaning was much more necessary during those  hardship posts. They became the friends and family I didn’t have. (The idea of having a stranger come in to my home every now and then, instead of almost every day, doesn’t appeal to me. I would feel more inconvenienced then anything.)
  • The kids are older, they can help out. (And should. You should have seen my face the first time my son refused to clean up his toys in Albania. He was about seven, turned to me and said, “That’s what Zana is for.” OH, H -E – double hockey sticks, NO.)
  • I’m not working full-time, I can do it. (A guilty pleasure?)


You may be wondering why I’ve spent so much time worrying about something that seems so insignificant. If I’ve had help in the past, why would I be so resistant to having help now? I’ve asked myself the same question. Why do I care so much? Why do I keep letting this little thing rattle my brain?

Seriously, this is not the first time I’ve thought about writing this post. GASP! I know, right. I’ve thought about it at least a handful of times and then always shrugged it off thinking how crazy I must sound. And, that’s when it hit me. It makes me sound like a spoiled brat. Does it not?

When I was younger, I always told my parents I was going to travel the world. And, I am! I also told them I would never clean my own toilets. Mostly, that’s true. But, I didn’t tell them that because I think it is the most absolutely disgusting thing in the world. Even though it is. It’s because….well…here it comes…I think…I think I’m too good.


That hurt.

So, in some weird sort of way, my resistance to asking someone to come into my home and clean up after me is to remind myself I’m not too good to do the dirty work. The dirty work is what keeps me grounded. Keeps me humble. And, as a mom, there is a lot of humbling work.

Dirty dishes, dirty laundry, dirty diapers, dirty floors, dirty bathrooms, dirty sheets, dirty furniture, dirty kids, sick messes…You get it!

I think 90% of my life as a mom involves an opportunity to stay humbled! I finally understand the OCD behavior of my own mom now. She would bleach the crap out of anything! And go crazy over a small scrap of paper on the carpet after she just vacuumed.

And, we all turn into our mothers, right?

…just living up to that!


Until next time –

Simply live,

Carla xoxo



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