Shaky Egg

Is mental illness simply the lot of the working mother? The working woman? The woman?

I reckon maybe other working mothers would be glad to have this problem. And I guess I am glad that I have it. Sorta.

I mentioned that few weeks ago my husband and step kids stayed out on vacation several days longer than the baby and I did. I had this house so tidy– horizontal surfaces empty and wiped, bed made, floors swept, laundry and dishes caught up. Even on work days, I was able to easily complete the minimum routine items that kept it looking nice.

What happened the minute they got back? We, really I, began to stagger under the growing load of items we couldn’t keep up with. I’m trying not to be a martyr. It’s just the truth. When I ask for equal division of labor he says I’m the messy one, and that he’s disgusted because when he cleans something once a year it never stays clean… it was just to cover up the fact that he doesn’t pick up after himself or at least leave the surfaces I’ve cleaned clean, dammit.

It’s especially discouraging when I work all day and then come home to an untidy, unhygienic, uncomfortable home that, it seems, I just cleaned a day or two ago.  I can either do the second shift that my husband doesn’t see the need for and clean it, or go to bed miserable in this hell hole.

Now that the stepkids are (sadly) gone back to their mother, I wonder if it will degenerate as badly and as quickly this time. We’ll do a scientific experiment– husband only vs. husband and two preteens.
The thing is… I am spending my Saturday cleaning. I made a little flylady chart of items that are only allotted 15 minutes and items that are only allotted 5 minutes. It should have only taken me two hours.

But I can’t stop!

I’ve been relentlessly throwing things away or throwing them into the rooms where they belong almost all day. I’ve stopped briefly to feed or snuggle my three year old or have coffe, but for the last four hours… it’s sad. But I guess it’s better than having ocd-hoarding. Well… I don’t have it too bad anyway. Perhaps you wouldn’t believe me if you saw my den upstairs which is covered in old clothes I’ve been too skinny to wear for years, self help books, hundreds of diaries from the time I was ten… but at least down here, in our living space, I am ruthless, and within the limitations of our somewhat, er, bargain eclectic decorating scheme, it looks sooo nice. It does to me, anyway.

I guess strictly speaking compulsive behavior is something you do over and over even though it doesn’t give you any satisfaction. And truly, I have to admit I’m actually enjoying this. I can see my bedroom floor and my laundry room floor. I even got out the vacuum! I threw away candy we’ve had since last halloween– why in hell did we even move it into this house? I dismantled all those piles and piles of papers and books that seem to grow organically from every surface. Every item I toss in the garbage is like, I dunno, like taking off a nasty old bandage and letting the sun shine on a wound so it can heal.

But it would also feel sooooo good to accomplish some creative writing, and/or some healing school study. But I’m sooooo tired. And we’re out of pullups (she’s potty trained but it’s a lot to ask a little one, not to wet the bed during a nap or all night) so I have to go out at some point. Maybe it won’t be so damn hot and we can go to the park for a bit to get some exercise and bond.