The shortest blog entry that I ever wrote was titled ‘Washing the Kitchen Floor’ and the entry simply read: ‘Seriously- is there any point?’
There is a raging battle between the house and I, and I am not winning. There are never-ending towers of laundry to be folded, relentless loads of dishes to be put away, groceries to be bought, windows to be washed and whereas the ‘essential’ chores seem to just get done, the ‘need-to-do’ items rarely get touched and I can kiss the ‘nice-to-have’ ones goodbye. Painting the house? No chance. Gardening? What the *beep* is gardening?
The children need me, the laundry needs me, the constant explosions around the house need me. The potty training needs me, the freelance work needs me, the vacuuming needs me and did I mention that I also have a husband? We’re like ships that pass in the kitchen somewhere near dinner time. We sail by each other sounding off our whistles and then we sail away, each taking a kid off to bed. One of us will cook, the other will clear up the detritus of the day; the littered toys, clothes, crumbs, sippy cups and other unmentionable items. We shove back our food then we disappear into leftover work, ‘to-do’ lists, balancing finances or early nights and when we get a date evening out together we are too tired to talk so we go to the cinema. Harry Potter followed by the carwash was our last big night out!
They say that you should try to keep a hold of yourself when you become a parent- to remember who you are and not be sucked into the abyss, but where is the point of balance? I have always continued to work a little, always carved out time to write and fiercely defended my status as ‘adult’ before ‘mummy’. Time and time again I hear friends saying that they feel lost, they don’t know who they are or that if they were plonked down in front of their life-long favourite hobby with ten hours to themselves that they would simply sit and stare, not knowing where to start. But then I notice that their homes are under a bit more control than mine is, their hair is done, their house is painted and their garden doesn’t look like a bomb hit it. And then the bomb of realization hits me- it’s all about choice and compromise. I cling like a limpet to the things that are precious to me, and it’s at the expense of others- things I value less than I value me. And if that means that my house is in disarray, well perhaps that’s okay- though it’s not an easy partnership. To the thankless chores that eat up time daily, I’d like to say “BUGGER OFF!” To folding the laundry and emptying the dishwasher I’d like to yell “STUFF IT!” And to the kitchen floor with its crumbs and stains and spills and scuff-marks- to the kitchen floor I would like to say “WHAT THE F?” but I don’t. Instead kitchen floor I salute you- you’ve won the war and I retreat obligingly to be your slave.
It’s all about choice and compromise. I am sitting being the writer, throwing words around the page until they reflect my thoughts and feelings. I glance up and notice that my child is eating a plant. It’s time to go and be mummy.
