Put down that bloody broom!

3 Nov

Better than mopping.

Motherhood hasn’t made me a calmer person. I know this because I find myself getting frustrated quite a lot of the time. This morning I shouted at the bin because it wouldn’t close properly. I often swear at household appliances. My blender has a habit of vomiting bits of vegetables from a hole in the top of the lid all over the kitchen cupboards and work surfaces when I switch it on. Nothing to do with the fact that I didn’t put the lid on properly.

I’ve just had to prise myself away from the kitchen to write this, mainly because I realised that if I didn’t do something that amounted to something then I would probably go mad. I’ve had many jobs, but when I’m stuck at home with a relatively new baby, I find myself getting increasingly annoyed at the amount of tiny things that need to be picked off the floor, shoved into various household orifices, taken out again, sometimes folded and often piled all over the house before they are touched by the hands of young people and destroyed – and the cycle of making good and clearing away starts all over again. Hardly satisfying stuff if it’s all I’ve done with my day. One thing I’ve recently started to do is leave stuff alone if it’s getting me down. I’ll revisit when I’m less angry.

Here are a few of the things I’ve been doing in the last week, in times of extreme frustration. Some would call it wasting time. I would call it staying sane:

There’s a healthy stack of old New Yorkers on the coffee table that my husband steals from work. I’ve been reading the short stories, partly because they are the only things that I can fully understand, and partly because the actual articles that span ten pages or so would take me a couple of years to finish. I now know that David Sedaris didn’t enjoy swimming as a child. Progress.

I’ve been writing this blog and although it takes me about 10 minutes to upload a photograph, and even then it’s usually upside down, it’s slow progress and, seeing as I’m crap at drawing is my take on an art class.

Yesterday, I found an old box of teeth whitening strips in my drawer. They are very out of date, but I’m conducting an experiment to see if hydrogen peroxide really does go off. In 7 days I should have white teeth. Either that or I’ll be dead.

I’ve been trying to play the piano. We have one for the kids and it’s not used in the day, so although my sight reading is poor, my fingering terrible and the noise I create makes the baby cry I thought I’d try and put some of my childhood lessons to use.

Work has picked up a bit too. I quite like leaving the house with a brisk wave and a ‘see you when the kids are in bed’ type male aloofness. It makes me feel a certain liberation that I felt I’d lost for good when my children were born.

And yes, the kitchen floor’s still not been cleaned and, my mother’s arriving tomorrow and she’ll probably think that I’m suffering from depression when she sees the state of the house. Truth be told I’m in a far better place mentally than I was when I spent my spare time scrubbing the grouting around the bath with a bleach doused toothbrush.

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