I’m cleaning my house today. I am. I am. I AM. Nothing is going to distract me. Nothing is going to draw me off course- I will get the nineteen loads of laundry done, I will get all four bathrooms spic-n-span, I will get all the dishes done, the sheets on five beds changed (thereby contributing to the nineteen loads of laundry), I will get the bookshelves dusted and the floors mopped. I will I will I willwillwill!
I hate housekeeping. I love home, but I positively HATE house cleaning. Especially with three kids, each of whom takes it as a personal challenge to immediately UN-do whatever I have just DONE.
Thankless, unending, never-ending, always more, unless you live in a museum, but even then you still have to dust, housework. Ugh.
So here I sit. Chin resting on my hand, gazing morosely around my kitchen and desk. There are fragments of toast, a washcloth, a stuffed pig and a little plastic ring from a gallon jug of milk under the table. Nevermind that I swept last night. I’ve already done one load of dishes, and there is as least another in the sink. On my desk are my scriptures, two half-full glasses of water, a pile thiiiiiiis-high of papers, two pull-ups, some wipes, a pair of Buzz Lightyear underwear and the new Brandi Carlile disk.
I just don’t want to deal. Mostly it’s the laundry. Good golly, is just never ends. I can deal with basic upkeep fine- but the laundry? There are only five of us, but you would think there were fifteen. Even with a high-capacity front loader, I will be doing laundry until it’s dark. Seriously. Then I have to fold it all, only to have the kids empty their drawers and closets looking for that particular pair of “pretty pants”. Grrrr. Nothing makes me feel more irritated and unappreciated than laundry.
Of course, this may really just be a problem of modern excess. I suppose if we were more like our ancestors, with only a few items of clothing each, it wouldn’t be such an issue. And at least I don’t have to haul our stuff in a basket on my head down to the river and beat it on the rocks. Right? But then, they didn’t bathe daily, either, so I really don’t want to go there. I would suck as a pioneer. Of course, the point is moot, because I would have died in childbirth. Had I even made it to adulthood.
I don’t suppose asthmatics did so well in the wild, wild west.
*Sigh* I really am going to clean my house. Really. Any minute now…