There are days (many of them in fact) when things just don't go to plan. I have good intentions. I always start the day believing that by the end of it that my house will be spotless. Toys will be in place, floors will sparkle with cleanliness, and all the clothes will be ironed and put away.
It never all happens. Ever.
This seems to be a bit of a theme for me lately. My quest for a clean home (read about that here). My inability at times to juggle everything (view that here) and my chaotic days that often take me away from the every day stuff that needs to be done (read about that here).
Partly, of course, my children are to blame. They're messy little fellows, leaving their clothes on the floor, towels thrown hastily over the towel rack (with no chance of airing or drying), and toys and books left everywhere other than their room. No amount of "Don't leave this here all the time or I'll confiscate it!" seems to work. And so I walk around the house each day, removing their items from the kitchen bench, the hall table, my room, the bathroom, the garden. Ah, yes. The world of boys. It's a trip.
Often these days, I feel myself losing interest. I'm turning in to my mother. I ask, I say please, I remind and then ask again. Then I give up and do it myself. And I know only too well that I'm not doing myself, or my boys, any favours.
Then there's me. Unruly hair most of the time, hastily tied back most days. Clothes that are comfortable and yet, boring. I don't have an interest in fashion, and for the most part, I'm pretty casual. Sometimes I dress in my gym wear, and mostly if I do, a walk with the dog or on the treadmill is at least planned. But sometimes, I don't actually intend to do any formal exercise. I just find it comfortable to wear tights, a t-shirt and sneakers for a change. And so, I figure as long as I'm out of it by school pick-up, it will be assumed I've exercised at some point during the day (or it was my intention to do so), and hence my outfit is suitably acceptable.
And for the most part, I'm happy with this arrangement. But there's another side of me. If you're in to horoscopes, call it my "Virgo trait" if you like, but there are days I wish I was a Stepford Wife.
Immaculately dressed, poised, with all the right and proper things to say. My fridge would be filled with healthy and and colourful food, and dinner would be served on spotless, white plates, with napkins and silverware. Candles and flowers would adorn the table. Three courses would be served, right as Hubby walks through the door.
My children would be picture perfect. Clean, neat and tidy. Manners to the highest of standards. My husband would come home to a house that looks like a magazine spread from Home Beautiful Magazine or the like. Not a single thing out of place. And should he help himself to a snack from the pantry, it would be filled with a selection of fare, all carefully arranged in matching Tupperware.
I would bake my children's birthday cakes each year. They would be eloborate designs that would envoke "oohs" and "aaahs" from the party guests. The decorations would fill the room and be perfectly hung and the colours would coordinate with what the birthday boy, and I, were wearing. And I would always...always bake when people came for tea. Tea cakes, slices and handmade chocolates would be laid before my guests.
The reality? I'm not even close. I once said to Hubby, "Go on. Admit it. If it was socially acceptable to want for one, you'd LOVE it if I were a Stepford Wife." "No," he protested. "I really wouldn't. I don't want a robot for a wife." To which I responded, "But you'd love a clean home like a Stepford Wife would keep." He couldn't help but smile. "That part would be good."
Anyway, it's not going to happen anytime soon. Oh, ok. Never. And so, I'll keep walking over the toys strewn across the floor, and I'll continue to, along with Hubby, hang the odd piece of clothing over the end of the bed until I can't see it anymore and am forced to put them away. That's life. Besides, the whole personality side of the Stepford Wife would never suit me. I couldn't stand in submission whilst my husband entertained the crowd. Fat chance. I'm too much of a motor mouth to do that.
Until next time...