I never think of my life as being overly busy. My kids aren’t involved in sports and activities every night (just Thursday night and Saturday morning), I work a normal week and so does Homer and I try not to load up the weekends too much. I keep on top of things like laundry and dishes, homework and projects, social engagements and family obligations. I’m generally pretty organized and together. But then, I took a weekend off.
Homer did a great job home alone with the kids last weekend. They had a blast, even if that meant loads of take-out, new toys with teeny-tiny parts and mastering the craft of making paper airplanes. I was away, so groceries didn’t get purchased, laundry didn’t get done, the kids weren’t made to tidy up after themselves, there were a lot of dishes left “to soak”, bathrooms didn’t get cleaned, carpets didn’t get vacuumed. I’m not saying that I always DO all of these things, but I do make sure that SOMEONE does them.
All last week, I felt frazzled. I eventually caught up on getting the clothes clean, but it was Sunday after dinner before everything was folded and put away. I felt like I was scrambling all week for school lunches, because I didn’t have my usual supply of lunch foods. Every room was pretty messy; I tried to do little bits every night, but I’m still not caught up a week later.
I was away for THREE DAYS, people! It seems inconceivable to me that we live that close to the brink of chaos, but it’s apparently true. And now, it’s spring! Don’t get me wrong, I love the warmer weather, the clear roads, the longer days. BUT, the melting snow reveals the gardens that need tending, the lawn that was never fully cleared of leaves, the sun porch that didn’t fare well over the long winter and, of course the bane of my existence, the pool. It’s like I have a whole extra house to get in order and the original one is still in a state of disarray.
Homer is right this moment clearing out the garage and making a trip to the dump and Goodwill. He has promised to help get the house back in order and to work on the outside with me. This is why I love him. Because, even though he does not share my frustration - he doesn’t mind the house looking “lived in”; he doesn’t see the dirt; he cheerfully insists we have the best house on the street, even with the weedy gardens and patchy lawn – he understands that I am uneasy with it and he will make the effort to get it to the point where we’re both happy.