I have a confession to make..
I’m not a great housewife.
I’m sorry. I wish I was. Truly I
do. In my fantasies I run an organised household, there are fresh flowers
placed on the tables, the decor is tasteful and on trend, and everything is clean. No dust dare alight on my counter
tops, and any visitors choosing to use my guest facilities will find everything
they require for their bathroom needs. The fridge is full of appetizing but
healthy snacks, and two delicious meals are prepared each day which provide for
my family’s nutritional needs, but also tickle their taste buds. Breakfast they
can do themselves for Gawds sake. I’m not a complete domestic goddess.
But that’s in my dreams. My house
is not like that. Dust finds its way onto every surface. Three teenage children
means that the bathroom is constantly covered in a colourful mixture of
toothpaste, shower gel and razor foam and the toilets are, well, just not acceptable
for visitors at a moments’ notice. My house is
‘tidy’. I am always putting things away (squashing them in a cupboard), the
kids bedroom floors are cleared of ‘stuff’ and you can see the carpet for two
days out of every seven, and on the surface all is well. You wouldn’t walk into
my house and think ‘God Woman, what is WRONG with you?’, dry heave and pass
out, but you might want to use the neighbours toilet instead of mine, and my
kitchen floor won’t be gleaming like you see in those really annoying floor
cleaner adverts. (I don’t think they use real people’s houses in those adverts).
In an ideal world I would have a
cleaner, and a chef. I don’t think that’s too greedy. I know there are a lot of
people that do have cleaners (chefs
not so much, I’m not mates with the Beckhams), in fact – ahem - I used to have a
cleaner myself before we made Aliyah. But unfortunately an increase in a liking
(addiction) for Candy Crush and Netflix bingeing, has led to a subsequent
decrease in what I used to do, which was, work. For money. Which ultimately
paid for my cleaner.
Weirdly I married someone
with a sense of morals, and Husband feels very strongly that if there is no
paid work being done currently by me, then there can be no cleaner being paid
currently by me. I sort of see his point.
As Husband and kids are out of the
house most of the time, (Husband thankfully has not succumbed to Candy Crush
addiction and therefore still goes to work), I am left alone and it appears
that as I am the only one here, the cleaning and laundry falls to me.
I actually
wouldn’t mind it so much if I could do it just once. I would pat myself on the back
on a job well done and put the cleaning stuff away. Forever. And get back to lying
on the couch.
But the problem with cleaning is
that it needs doing regularly. You
finish, take off your Marigolds, and before you can say Cillit Bang, there’s a
mark on the counter, or someone’s had the audacity to use the flippin’ toilet.
Good God People. Can’t you hold it in? Or only use the toilet at other people’s
houses?
So half an hour later, all my
wiping and scrubbing is for nought, as before my eyes the sparkling sink is
covered in food and my clean(ish) floor has footmarks . I count down the
minutes, until I have to do it all over again.
Although Husband does not appear
to have an addictive personality, (Lord knows how he – or anyone - can abstain
from Candy Crush), he does have a mild case of OCD. Which means he likes things
to be tidy. And clean. Or he’s not a happy bunny. So before he gets home I move
(or hide) all the things that could be a trigger – could be last night’s dinner
festering in the sink, or a huge bag of rubbish that he trips over as he walks in
the door. (You see - they’re only small things).
Ultimately, having a Husband that
is tidier than me has an upside. Although I do the cleaning and washing, it’s
never quite done to his standards. The collar of his shirt is still creased after
I iron it, hung it up straight from the dryer, the toilet isn’t clean enough,
even though I used bleach on it 20 minutes ago, the week before last. He
wants it done better. But we both know that is not in my capabilities. I just don’t
have the cleaning gene. So, after 20 years of marriage he has realised that the
only way to get it done to his satisfaction - is to do it himself.
I have to say this seems to be
working out very well. He’s happy as his clothes are now wrinkle free and he is
no longer mistaken for a homeless person - although we will miss the additional
income from his street collection - and I’m happy as I’ve finally reached Level 1,049 in Candy Crush Saga.
It’s all good.
