It’s like a bolt that breaks everyday.
It’s like a criminal you have to arrest every single day, for the same thing.
It’s like a stack of papers that never goes down, no matter how much you file.
It’s like writing a paper, where the word requirement is always 1,000 words more than what you have.
It’s like the rain stopping and the sun coming out for only 10 minutes each day.
It’s like running a marathon that never ends.
What am I talking about? Of course: it’s housework.
Today was a rough day. Even though my house is clean, my bathroom scrubbed and the sheets changed: it took 3 donuts, a cup of coffee, one long phone call, a walk on the beach, 2 episodes of Dr. Phil, back to back judge shows, and several kitchen experiments to finally get myself to do the most important thing on my list: CLEAN MY FREAKING HOUSE!
Talk about procrastination. I wore myself out with procrastinating. I spent 90% of my day procrastinating.
In theory, I consider managing my house to be my secondary job (secondary only to being the mother of a child who is currently obbsessed with dogfood). I also consider it to be a valuable job, one that requires a decent amount of work and planning. I don’t consider it to be demeaning; rather, after the last 10 years being someone’s employee, it’s a privilege to be the boss and run things the way I want. I take pride in having a clean and organized linen closet, a filing system for the mail, and a tub that never looks dirty before I clean it again. In theory I also think that whatever work I happen to be doing, is worship to my God. After all, he created work and he created me to work…more than singing dumb songs at church once a week, I can worship with my attitude and hard work. All in theory.
In PRACTICE it’s a totally different story. I hate that the work never seems to come to any completion. I can’t count the number of times, like today, where I looked at a semi-clean kitchen and thought “Ugh, I just can’t stand to cook and make more of a mess!” so I picked the baby up and took myself to Dunkin Donuts for breakfast. I spend hours trying to avoid the work I need to do and so so many times I find my husband downstairs quietly and cheerfully doing the laundry because he doesn’t have any clothes.
I feel ashamed of my laziness, ashamed of my inability to keep a house consistantly clean, and absolutely mortified when my husband cleans the house and just says he “wanted to help.” I’ve actually been so angry over my lack of work ethic that I’ve screamed at him to stop cleaning so I could do it! Crazy-I know!
I honestly feel like I need a psychiatrist for my housework issues. On one hand, part of my problem is the perfectionist in me that is driven to tears because I just can’t find the time or the will to wipe down my baseboards on a daily basis (which actually always haunt me, even though you’d have to kill me before I’d actually clean them). On the other hand, I have no problem ignoring the mess until I’m willing to address it, or at least willing to admit that it’s gotten out of hand. I constantly feel like my husband is going to come home and yell “WHY isn’t this house clean? What on earth have you been doing all day?” and I’m reduced to angry, violent tears when he comes home, sighs and then offers to pitch in.
Truthfully though: all my whining and psychoanalysis aside. I just don’t like it, and I don’t want to do it.
Somehow I need to find the discipline, every day, to purposefully do the things I know I should do…oh wait a second, why is this sounding like a big life issue? I thought this was just housework!?!