Housework Horrors

Sometimes I feel like all I’ve done all day is clean this sodding house. Like a slave to my family, but unlike actual slaves I don’t get a nice dark, quiet cupboard to sit in all by myself. (***I do not condone slavery***)

I am constantly hoovering the kitchen floor, I literally carry around the portable Dyson like a cowboy with a pistol – I even had a fantasy that you could buy a holster for easy access. All of this vacuuming yet still I can’t walk from the table to the fridge without finding half a Farley’s rusk and three blueberries attached to my slippers.

I’m not even thirty, yet my hands are so wrinkled and cracked with dryness from continuous contact with water that a chicken would make a better hand model than me.

We have very little carpet in our house but you can bet that should one of the girls spontaneously vomit or the dog has explosive diarrhea it is guaranteed they will direct the flow onto the one area with pure cream shag-pile. It seems they prefer to unload bodily fluids in comfort.

The washing basket is like some sick and twisted magic hamper that allows you a solitary glimpse of it’s heavenly bottom before conjuring another 5 metric tonnes of dirty clothes that have to be arranged to lean against the wall to avoid death by crushing. For me the washing and drying isn’t all that bad, it’s the putting away that I DESPISE. I was feeling a bit lazy this weekend and left some clean, folded laundry on the sofa ready to be dealt with later only to walk in on the dog humping our fresh bedding and arranging it into some kind of nest. FFS.

My darling husband really helps when he trails through the house in mud caked football boots but it’s alright as he promises he’s “walking lightly” 😐 or when I find him and our daughter playing “body slam” into the cushions on our bed. Excuse me, I hate to break up the daddy/daughter bonding sesh but it took mummy 12 minutes to arrange those decorative pillows.

Before we had kids I used to clean the house and know that when I walked back into a room a day later it would be as gleaming as I’d left it. Now I walk out of a room and when I walk back in 7 seconds later I’m not surprised to find bogies on the TV screen or a partially eaten Freddy bar stuck to my curtains…

 

 

 

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