Tag Archives: housework
Earlier this morning.
Little J, sitting on the couch: Mommy, I spilled tea on your fancy pillow.
What should follow is me rushing out of the kitchen with my perfectly fluffed up hair and make up, in high heels and apron, armed with a cloth and homemade cleaning solution. Scrubbing off the stain from my designer pillow while saying something like “Gosh Darn it child. I cannot leave you alone even for a minute”. Then returning to the kitchen to finish making home made scones.
Instead I continued to type comments on a blog I was admiring at that moment and without even looking up I calculated the damage. One IKEA pillow purchased because Little J wanted it and I was too tired to argue after an epic trip to Seattle and hours spend in the kingdom of self serve furniture. One cup of tea. One comment that if I don’t finish typing in next five seconds I will never remember what I was about to say.
So I said: Don’t worry about it, it will dry.
Guess the only thing fancy in my house is my tea drinking son’s vocabulary.
My neighbor from across the road came over this afternoon with her five year old daughter. She handed me a card and homemade mint scrub. As a thank you for pulling bins up her driveway while they were on vacation. No, really.
I was in the middle of a hurricane and planning of damage control:
- What health and safety guidelines should I follow? Proceed with caution so as not to trip over the toys.
- How do I clean my damaged home or repair and rebuild it safely for the future? If I knew I would start cleaning it.
- What precautions should I take when returning home? Tell Husband the house burned down and buy a new one.
- Where can I get assistance? Think only an enthusiastic mother-in-law would be willing to tackle this one.
- How do I cope with the emotional effects of a disaster? Chocolate and alcohol. And denial.
- How can I help children cope with the emotional effects of a disaster? I think the child is fine, he was the hurricane.
- How can I help someone affected by a disaster? Share my chocolate and alcohol?!
Anyway, she gave me a gift, so I had no choice but to ask her in. I ushered her through the kitchen, the long way around to the back deck, in hope she is blinded by the sun enough not to see the full extend of our mess. At this point I would also like to add I did in fact straighten the house out before we left for the beach this morning. In the afternoon, while gardening ( pulling weeds really) Little J got bored and went to play inside. Ten minutes later I came in and cried.
As I was saying, off we went to the back deck. Kids started playing. Pulling more stuff out. Onto the back deck, then in the living room. Then they moved upstairs. It was for the best really, because my neighbor should in fact feel guilty for her child adding to the disaster.
It was a perfect afternoon. Good company, occupied kids and Husband mowing to show off a bit.
Then I heard the kids coming downstairs. Apparently they knocked down the tent in Little J’s room and needed help.
My son was telling his guest: “I will ask my Mommy to do it. My Daddy is old, he cannot.”
The day got even better…
Credits: Questions on how to cope after Hurricane are by FEMA.
PS Husband is only a few years older then me.
It has been a week since I mopped the floor. Most of the time I am indeed on top of it. Housework, and floor too. Well sometimes I fly around, away with the fairies-unintentionally. But you will find me walking on the floor, which as I mentioned, has not been cleaned for over a week.
In fact I have done everything else: bathrooms Thursday evening while my son was taking a bath, daily tidying up at least twice, laundry more then I care to admit. I have robots vacuuming upstairs all the time, so much so I am afraid they might be forming a union. Oven and other undesirable scrubbing occurs in the middle of the night, when guilty conscious prevents me from going to bed.
You might think that I hate mopping. Not really. You might think I broke the mop. Nope. You might wonder if I am on strike because my husband has not paid me a compliment all week. Wrong again, he told me I am pretty on both Friday and Saturday; even before he had wine.
Perhaps I can blame my lack of floor maintenance on having a canine house guest. The few times I had a slightest inclination to clean the floors the dogs were sleeping so sweetly I had to reschedule. Plus the array of toys on continuous display is not helping either. My son has set up a village of Pontypandy in the reception which I promised not to touch. And Lego city in the breakfast nook, which I again am not to touch. The dogs occupy the rest of the floor. So even if I wanted to, my hands are tied.
The worst thing about it is as days go by it becomes easier to live with it. Dust bunnies multiply, we feed them with dog hair and sand from the beach. They grow. My Husband is patiently waiting, trying not to say anything. My son says: It’s messy here, I like it. I am so guilt ridden I feel the need to write about it for the whole world to know.
Of course I could be cleaning it right now, instead of writing about it. So in the end it is your fault really. Shame on you.