My house is a bomb site.
Not sometimes, all the time. And I HATE cleaning. I hate it with a passion.
Cleaning to me is a waste of my time. Time that could be spent with the kids, or on my lounge on Facebook.
This poses a few issues.
2. My husband wishes he’d married Alice from the Brady Bunch.
3. My kids have acquired the same hatred for cleaning so no one does anything to help – ever.
My husband has for years (and still does) complained about the state of the house. “It’s an embarrassment” (true) “It’s your job” (technically correct) And “we can never find anything and the house is full of crap” (100% correct)
After I had daughter 2 and we had just come home from hospital, I was having a particularly bad day. He walked in, my son had run away, I was nude from the waist down, the 2 girls were naked. I was covered in vomit and crying hysterically. He had walked over a pile of nappies to get in the front door – and he looks at me and says – wait for it – “do you ever clean the skirting boards around here?”
I obviously didn’t kill him. Because I have 2 more kids to prove he’s still alive. And he has never ever asked me about a skirting board again, which is lucky for him, and me – because I don’t know whether the house we live in now has any.
What he has done is get me a cleaner – and I’ve finally found one I love. She comes once a week and the house is clean for an hour tops. The rest of the time the dishes aren’t done, the house is a mess. The kids go laundry diving in the pile to get a pair of undies and my washing pile falls out of the laundry. The floors need mopping and the table is sticky. When strangers come over I pretend I’m sick to excuse the state of it. My sister comes and folds my washing because she pities me.
I’ll never have a clean house and I’ll lie about the easy day I’ve had to excuse my lack of cleaning – because I JUST DON’T WANT to clean!
I’d rather sit on Facebook instead.