I’m a Bonus Mom, Not a Maid—Someone Send Help (or Wine)
Listen, I love my family. I love the life we’ve built together. But I did not sign up to be the unpaid and completely under appreciated live-in housekeeper for two kids and a boyfriend who suffer from selective blindness when it comes to mess.
My homemade Halloween costume inspired by my boyfriend’s kids rooms. I call it “My room is clean!”.
For years—not days, not weeks, but years—I have tried every trick in the book to get these kids (7 and 13) into a routine of basic tidiness. And when I say “basic,” I mean bare minimum survival skills like:
• Use a dish? Wash the dish.
• Play with 47 Legos? Don’t let them become landmines for my feet.
• Five minutes before bed? Pretend you’re not wild raccoons and tidy up your room.
I’ve tried making it fun. I’ve tried schedules. I’ve tried a fun app that has games and prizes. I’ve tried cold, hard cash.
I have not just asked the kids to clean their rooms, I have given them systems. Foolproof, there-is-no-excuse systems. I labeled bins. I bought storage furniture. I color-coded Amelia’s toys so she’d know exactly where everything goes (blue bin = dolls, red bin = chaos, green bin = whatever 7-year-olds hoard). I basically turned their rooms into a tiny, organized IKEA showroom, thinking, This will be it! This will finally get them to clean up!
Spoiler alert: It did not.
And so, when I inevitably get tired of stepping over piles of dirty clothes and mystery crumbs, I stop playing nice. I grab trash bags. If I’m going to be forced to do it myself, then shit is getting thrown away. Toys, rogue socks, that one crumpled-up school worksheet they swear is important, but has been under their bed for three weeks. If it’s on the floor and I have to pick it up, it might not be seen again. Call it tough love. Call it survival. Call it “Bonus Mom’s Had Enough”. Whatever you call it, it’s a last-ditch effort to make these kids care before I lose my damn mind.
Nothing sticks. And I know exactly why: because their dad isn’t enforcing it beyond one heroic, one-day attempt before slipping back into the Land of Empty Promises.
Let Me Be Clear: It’s Not About My Boyfriend Not Doing Enough Around the House!
Before anyone jumps in with a “Wow, sounds like your boyfriend doesn’t do anything,” let me stop you right there. That’s not the issue.
He actually does a lot. He does most of the laundry (which, let’s be honest, is no small feat in a household with kids). He helps wash dishes, he cooks, he handles all the outdoor work, takes care of the trash, and does plenty of other household things without needing to be asked. It’s not that he isn’t pulling his weight—it’s that he isn’t enforcing anything with the kids.
Actual photo after hearing “my room is clean”
When my boyfriend says, “Clean your room”, the kids disappear for approximately two minutes before triumphantly reappearing, declaring, “All done!”, Oh, really, kiddo? That was fast. Even I, armed with my trusty trash bag of doom, take longer than that. And of course, the reality of their “cleaning” is exactly what you’d expect, stuff crammed under the bed, shoved behind the bureau, and my personal favorite, clean clothes that were on the floor mysteriously migrating to the laundry hamper because apparently, it’s easier to let me wash them again than to just fold them and put them away. And does my boyfriend actually check to see if the job was done right? Nope.
Which means, at the end of the day, I am left to fight this losing battle alone.
l’ll say this- when their rooms are a disaster, I take away privileges, like the iPad I let Amelia use. It’s a privilege, not a right, and it needs to be earned. The kids know that when I say something is off-limits, I mean it. It’s not about being mean; it’s about motivating them to develop good habits. If they spent just five minutes a day keeping up with their rooms, it wouldn’t get overwhelming. This is one area where my boyfriend and I differ. He will still let them play video games, have their phone, go to friends houses, etc., even when their basic chores aren’t done. At the end of the day, I believe that teaching responsibility now will benefit them in the long run, and privileges should be earned, not just given. I guarantee that if Rick enforced a - clean room or no phone policy- Max’s room would be clean every single day! We may not always agree on this, but I believe consistency is key because if they learn now that responsibilities come before fun, they’ll carry that lesson with them for life.
Given that our household is the primary source of structure and consistency for the children, it’s crucial to provide them with clear expectations and routines. This stability helps them develop a sense of security and responsibility, which is essential for their emotional and behavioral development.
Why Is This So Hard?
I am not asking for them to build me a shrine. I am not asking for them to deep-clean the baseboards with a toothbrush. I am just asking for basic human decency and effort so I don’t feel like I’m living in a frat house filled with small, messy roommates who don’t pay rent.
I’ve expressed this frustration over and over. My boyfriend promises, nods in agreement, makes big declarations about “change,” and then… poof! The motivation disappears into the abyss of “Eh, it’ll be fine” and I’m back to square one.
And then I become the bad guy because I have to remind, nag, and ultimately, either clean it myself or live in filth—neither of which is an option I’m willing to accept at 52. I want peace. I deserve peace.
So… What’s Next?
I see three possible scenarios here:
1. He Actually Steps Up. Not for a day. Not for a week. But for real. He actively helps enforce a routine, backs me up, and makes sure these kids learn basic life skills.
2. I Accept the Chaos. And while my blog tag line is a “Healthy dose of chaos”, this endless loop is not healthy. I let go, lower my standards, and learn to live in a messier home where I don’t have to nag—though I’d probably develop an eye twitch.
3. I Make a Hard Choice. If I cannot live like this forever, and if things don’t change, I have to ask myself if this is a deal-breaker. Because if my peace and sanity are non-negotiables, I need to be honest about what I’m willing to tolerate.
At the end of the day, this isn’t just about dishes or dirty socks on the floor. It’s about responsibility, respect, and follow-through. It’s about setting these kids up with real-life skills so they don’t grow into adults who think the laundry just magically does itself. And it’s about my well-being, because I refuse to live my life drowning in frustration over something that could be so easily fixed—if my boyfriend actually committed to fixing it.
For now, to preserve my sanity and give me some time to ponder the scenarios above, I’ve decided to let them manage their own rooms. Even if they remain messy, and if Rick chooses not to address it, that’s their decision. However, if they request any money or items from me, I’ll have to decline until they take responsibility for their spaces. I’ve invested significant effort into keeping our shared living areas clean and comfortable, and it’s important to me that everyone respects and maintains these spaces.
So, my dear readers, what’s the right next step here? Because if “Step 4” is me packing a bag and moving into a peaceful, mess-free Airbnb, someone better warn my boyfriend now.
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