We Should Hire a Gecko

There I was lying in bed, staring up at the ceiling.

Something was staring right back at me.

If you didn't know this about geckos, let me tell you: their eyes glow at night. And their suction cup feet allow them to walk upside down on the ceiling.

I know all this because we had a pet gecko in our house growing up and my room was his favorite.

Our house was nuts
We had a pet gecko, yes, but we also had gerbils, snakes, hamsters, rats, iguanas, cockatiels, lovebirds, finches, dogs, cats, guinea pigs, and a potbelly pig.

My mom used to tell me, "Having fun is more important than keeping things clean." And she practiced what she preached.

When she was a kid, her mom was militant about keeping things clean. "She would wipe the baseboards, who does that?" my mom would tell me.

She grew up in a super strict environment. So when she had kids, she vowed to herself that her house would be fun. She would let her kids be rowdy and make a mess, get grass stains and drink from the hose, run around like wild animals and literally have wild animals in the house.

So that was the house I grew up in and that's how I ended up with a wild ass gecko in my room. My mom loved it (and bought it) because it ate all the cockroaches in our Florida home. It slept all day (usually in my closet), came out at night and occasionally scurried across my ceiling to look down at me while I tried to fall asleep.

Remember the militant mom from before? That was my grandma.

"There is no way in hell I'm going to stay overnight in the house with that gecko running around," she would say. So we went to visit her house in north Florida instead.

I loved grandma's house
I loved my grandma and I loved everything about going to her house. It was like a mansion and it was so clean!

She loved having things just so and being in my grandma's house was like a dream come true for me. Everything had its place. I felt like my mind could relax because the floors were wide open. The carpet was soft and clean. There were places everywhere that I could put up my army men. I could lay on the ground with my cousin, flat on my stomach, playing the Nintendo just inches from my face. My back, neck and arms would go numb after hours of playing, so I would roll out of the room rather than get up to walk.

Sure, there were quirks. Grandma's house had a lot of rules. When I took a shower I had to squeegee water off every surface, glass and tile so there would be no water stains. We had to put everything away every time we finished playing, multiple times a day. Nothing was to be left out. No shoes in the house. No balls in the house. No eating anything anywhere except the dining room table. But that was all fine by me. In fact, I was taking notes. I liked the way this lady ran things.

My grandma loved us grandkids, but looking back, I think we drove her a little crazy too.

She had expensive crystal in a glass case and beautiful books and DVDs on the shelves that I pushed back to make room for my toys. And when I asked if she wanted to watch a movie with me, or play a game with me, the answer was always no. I knew she loved me, but she just didn't do that kind of stuff.

I loved the environment she had created, it scratched an itch in my little OCD brain, but I was also a little heartbroken. I wanted to have fun with my grandma, I wanted to hug her and kiss her all the time. But I also didn't want to mess up her makeup. She loved me, all of us, but there was always a distance.

Inspired by my grandma and a little afraid of the gecko lifestyle, I swung toward cleanliness and organization as I grew up.

I liked my things just so. I had my daily planner. I kept my desk clean and clear. A place for everything and everything in its place was my motto. And still to this day if you ask me where something is in my house, no matter how small, I can probably tell you exactly where it is.

But now I have kids of my own and I feel the daily pull between my mom's approach and my grandma's approach.

When my son runs up to me and hugs me, I smile and hug him back but I also wonder what is on his hands and how dirty they are.

When I come downstairs in the morning, my first thought is usually "We need to clean this place up" and not "I wonder what kind of fun stuff we are going to do today."

We have LEGOs here and plates there, snacks, drinks, toys, balls, stuff everywhere.

It feels like chaos to me. It's both exhilarating and exhausting.

But to my son, who just turned seven, it looks different. He says home is his "most favorite place in the world." He sees opportunity for fun everywhere. His friends come knocking on the door and they want to play inside. They love the LEGOs and toys, the drinks and the snacks. Where I see a mess, they see opportunity.

And that makes me see my mom's house differently and I appreciate it more and more.

She made a deliberate choice to live life her own way.

It wasn't just nuts at our house, she was letting us be kids.

And now that I'm a parent, I want to let my kid be a kid too.

I'm proud of the fact that our house is the one the neighborhood kids want to come visit. They knock on our door almost every day, sending our little white dog into a tizzy. They play and run in and out of the house all day. Sometimes they take their shoes off, sometimes they don't. They are a blur so it's hard to keep track.

I love my mom and I loved my grandma.

They both looked at the world almost completely differently and I think they gave me a perfect chance to see both sides.

Given the choice between fun and clean, I'm trying to choose fun.

I still love things clean and organized, god help me.

But I love love more.