picking myself up off the floor, again

So, I had my mini meltdown of the week. Phew at least that one is over. You might know it. It *always* happens as soon as my poor dh walks through the door. 'Oh my god, I just can't do THIS any more!!' Gesticulating wildly around the room, trying to encapsulate my life, as I see it at that moment. He might not sigh out loud, but I assume he does internally. It gets to the point sometimes when I just cannot stand the sight of another floor to sweep, another load of laundry to sort, whether clean or dirty, another plate to wash, another meal to clean up or prepare (or hey, quite often, the fun of both! double treat). By the time I have also been chauffeur and dog walker and facilitator of fun fun fun for everyone else there really isn't much of the day left. To do the amazing fabulous things I imagine I could do if I only had a shit load more free time.

I usually wail a bit about how my whole life feels like I embody the job of a maid without actually being paid a penny. There have been many times even I have cursed my absent-at-work dh during the day, when things get really bad in my head - for leaving stuff for me to pick up of his on purpose. This is the man who is out of the house for about 12 hours, who has a stressful job with (too much I think) responsibility and who rarely ever ever moans at all. He's a much better person than I and far less selfish. In fact when I tell him thank you for his efforts in looking after us all and keeping us well. He tells me my pleasure. And he is not being sarcastic. I might be tempted. In his shoes.

And you know what. I know his day can be shit too, what I hate most are these times when it all turns into a competetion, sometimes I am aware that my moaning sounds rather a lot like blame. That's when it all goes sour.

But I really need someone to moan at. I know it's a rubbish thing to do. I'd like to swallow it down and not. But then I might explode. On all of that bad feeling. Someone who isn't going to try and fix it all by suggesting I get a house cleaner (um, yeah, show me the money... and I'd still spend it one something else first). I hate that cheery, well lets problem solve! attitude. Or at least I do when I am in this particular head space. The more I hear suggestions, the more I feel worse and worse and worse. I guess because the suggestions don't acknowledge the shit that today has been. They are already trying to move me on. Before I am ready.

In different situations when I am not in this mad place or woe I have literally have told my dh what to say to me when I am in these funks. Something sympathetic, something emphatic. A hug. An offer to make me a cup of tea. I have found I need to do this, because otherwise he takes my sad crying anger at life as an insult.

Sympathy is it takes. Women are really good at this. They really are. And they know just what to say and do to make it better, mostly. I'd like to live with other women sometimes. I really would. A three year old 'woman' doesn't count. She doesn't know sympathy, only how to give orders. Or advice. She's the worst sort of woman right now, kind of like a mother. Who doesn't know much.

Sunday morning was one of those days. Having another adult around at the weekends, as great as it is for other reasons, really adds to the mess and chaos and dirt (there really is a reason why I put the dog in it's pen after a muddy wet walk rather than let it luxuriate on the Turkish handwoven rug and it isn't because I like cleaning). Cleaning. Again. God it sounds so boring. And it is. Yet how come it takes up so much of my life and head space? It really does. And I struggle and fight against it, constantly. Life is messy, and while that can be lovely and freeing and fabulous, it generally is oh so much more so for those who don't have to clean up five people's crap every single day. It's very freeing and wonderful for those who disappear to do their thing after being so free and easy. I am a facilitator of free and easy whilst damming the aftermath.

And so on Sunday I sat on the sofa (after having resurrected this said bit of furniture from the ruins of previous person's fun on there. And after I straighten the coffee table, open curtains and tidy a bit). Who can actually relax in a room so topsy turvy and messy it's like an acid trip? Or an art exhibition you walk away from because it's not funny or ironic when you see it every day. Well my dh can actually plonk himself down oblivious to this, but not me. So I sit down and just feel like crying. I think after a Saturday at work, on my feet all day, I need the following day not to have to contain being on my feet all day, generally doing similar service to others. So I am on the verge of tears, and feeling cross and grumpy And hoping everyone might freeze into statues just so they don't turn the house into a further fun exhibition. And actually kind sympathetic words aren't even going to cut it. Wow. Just typing this I am boring my control-freakish sounding self a bit.

I like to think of myself as a radical homemaker. A women, not especially unintelligent, a woman capable of other things (should I ever have opportunity to do them). Someone who embraces and chooses the art of home making. And enjoys it. For sure. There are moments when this is true. When I am making jam, vegetable gardening, baking, sewing a throw for a chair, or knitting clothes for my kids. When I embrace the crafts of long gone and stir them back to life I feel good. The first time I made kimchi or kombucha, or kefir, or sourdough bread; they were all good hearty cozy times. Collecting eggs and rearing my own chicks. I was reclaiming skills I was never past down. But mopping floors? Cleaning toilets? Scrubbing mould from walls? Washing a fox crap covered dog? These are things that make me weep. Really. But these are the things that make the world go round. Literally. The millions of women (lets be super honest, it's mostly the women) that wipe their toddlers butts and potties and vomit from carpets and sweep the floors endlessly, endlessly, like that cat licking an open tin forever and ever never realising it was licking up it's own blood. I feel like that cat. Only I suppose I realise I am licking my own blood and still need to carry on doing so.

So I sit on the sofa and in order not to have to look around I open my laptop and the first thing I see is a left open page with a photo of a beach. I want to go the beach. Or something!!! I blurt out. Dh must sense hysteria. So he tells me this is a good idea and about how we can be up and out in no time. I turn all low and broody oh no, it's too late already to get any where like that..... he is already in the shower.

But we did it, we made it out. And it was good. And needed. Even if we spent too much money and were very late home. Sometimes just driving in the car together, is the most we get to be all together, with no one dashing off, or needing to be somewhere.

The most magnificent thing of all (bar battling the refreshingly frigid wind on a buffeted beach) was returning home and there were no additions, at least, to the mess of the house. I really really felt that as a blessing. When you feel cheered by coming home to no one having been there, you feel a bit insane. But also that going out more is the way to go. Then one feels less like a plodding home maker and more like one is choosing to be at home. When it happens that you are there. It makes the world of difference. It's quite radical to decide things. Yes I shall clean the bathroom floor because if I don't I will feel sick when I next walk in here, and mad at the person who did this. And I don't want to. And I talk to myself in my head this way (or some times out loud and then my kids shout 'what did you say?' and I wonder who they are talking too). Yes I shall stay at home today! No I shall not. I shall take myself and children off and out, even if it's just with bags of crisps and fruit off into the hills to tramp about in the rain.

Thanks for deciding to read this, you radical home makers. I have a chocolate and blueberry cake in the oven smelling ready. Have a virtual piece on me. Just make sure you clean your own plate. My sink is way too full.