Not the New Order song (I find their earlier stuff way better, actually.) And not the mathematically calculated "most depressing day of the year." But laundry, traditionally done on Monday. According to this site, laundry wasn't really a Monday job, but a Sunday through Wednesday affair.
This probably doesn't surprise you, huh?
I've washed Munchkin's fall jacket no fewer than twice in the past 7 days; her splash pants three times. And mitts, and hat. And bedding. And all her clothes. Two sets of big-bed sheets. Many towels and kitchen laundry.
Empty the school bag. Pack the school bag.
Tidy. Cook. Wipe. Plan. Shop. Refill the toilet paper. Find four ponies, distributed through the house. Things into the car, then things back from the car. Toys into my purse, toys out of my purse. Run the dishwasher, but accumulate a week's worth of martini glasses, roasting pans, and pots and hide them in the oven until morale can be mustered to clean them.
Refill the jetdry dispenser.
Find a very very very dirty pink and white striped butterfly sock under the bench in the foyer. Take it outside to dump out the sand before reuniting it with its mate in the hamper.
The sheer repetitive drudgery of daily life is astonishing me all over again. And dudes, I have the most amazingly egalitarian husband in the world. He's up to his elbows in organic waste, newpaper and cardboard, plastics and glass, and the pullup pail. He's raking a dumptruck of leaves onto the street for the city to pick up. He's making beds and pulling a million little foam rubber toys out of the bottom of the tub and squashing them into a wet bag.
We have, I must protest here, a cleaning lady. We don't do: vacuuming, mopping, bathrooms, dusting, the stove, the fridge, the microwave. We only have one kid!
How? On? Earth? Can we possibly be spending so much time on this stuff?
And yet, in some kind of drudge work-related Stockholm Syndrome, tonight, as I hunched my yoga-sore back over to retrieve one little sneaker from the carpet, I kinda felt ... right.
"Awww," I thought, "I'm somebody's Mom, picking up sneakers and wearing a cardigan waiting for Dancing With the Stars to come on. Life is perfect."
Well, if you gotta do chores for 90% of your waking hours ... A blue Monday through rose coloured glasses is the way to go.
Now where's my ice cubes for my bourbon?
Monday, November 09, 2009
Blue Monday
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6 comments:
I need that cleaning lady. I need to not do the things you mentioned. Because I don't, they just don't get done at all. I'm horrible at the drudgery and we tend to live with piles. Sigh.
love this! a blue monday through rose coloured glasses - sounds like you should pour yourself a purple nurple cocktail to celebrate. Thanks for pointing out it's actually greener on the side of the fence we're already on!
This is going to sound seriously self-helpish, and I apologize.
When the drudgery gets to me, I try to think how lucky we are that we have a home to clean. How lucky my boys are to have toys to pick up.
How lucky we are to have children's things around us.
I'm up to my ears in laundry right now... newborns sure do make a lot of dirty laundry. At least the toddler generally only soils one outfit per day.
Yeah for cleaning ladies. I am on a campaign to increase the frequency with which ours visits us. Hubby has yet to be convinced, but I think I'll win in the end.
Oh how I could use that cleaning lady. So I am home and I can't keep up! The stuff you mention is what keeps me hopping and the actual cleaning, well forget about it!
I can't wait to watch DWTS tonight...I have it saved in the PVR so I am up for a marathon tonight.
I hear you. I don't understand how people manage to keep up and still have even a few minutes of "extra" time. We also have a cleaning service come in for the heavy grime once every 2 weeks, and it's only this that keeps us from getting completely buried under the mess and clutter. And as things stand there are piles and piles everywhere. I can't keep up! (And yet I stay up till 2 in the morning blogging. I've decided that I need it for my mental health.)
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