Every one once in a while domestic bliss escapes me and I'm left with a big dose of the so-sick-of-laundry-and-cooking doldrums I could puke. I can go months of culinary inspiration despite the moans and groans of the kids. Then one day, I can't do it anymore. I can't create menus for the week. I can't shop. I can't cook. I can't even answer the question "what's for dinner?". It's like any job I guess - burn out. Doesn't mean I don't love these cherubs who's never ending need to be fed doesn't go away - but I certainly get SO SICK of the song and dance. This cycle includes almost all things domestic. I could feel it coming on big time in the last few weeks. I could feel the melt down. The aggravation that I JUST swept yesterday but the floor is already dusty. The defeated feelings when clothes I washed and folded last weekend still sit in baskets in their room and it's time to do laundry again. ENOUGH. I can no longer walk into a bathroom I just bleached and, yet, STILL smell pee from my son hiding somewhere in the crevices of the floor or wall or toilet - who the hell knows. I can't make a meal that only 2 or 3 of us eat. I can't field questions about ingredients and if they like it or if they've had it before or if I think they'll like it this time or what's really for dinner. I just loose all umph for it all.
When this has happened in the past, I can't even imagine there will be a day to come when I feel like cooking. I don't know how I will ever make a bed or empty a dishwasher again. And tackling big jobs like changing sheets and organizing closets seem completely out of the question. Will never happen. This goose is cooked. Done. But somehow, someway, I rally. Just like all moms. We dig deep, get over ourselves and get back to business. Because while I pout and blah around the house, it's clear that it doesn't really make a big difference. It's not like people are walking up to me worried or concerned about my clear descent into the domestic blahs. No one's pouring me wine, drawing a bath or writing me encouraging love notes. It's not like they clue in and then say "OMG - I bet she's aggravated that our rooms are disasters! Let's go clean up!". It's pretty clear that the only person who really wants healthy meals, fresh clothes and a clean house is me anyway. Rob Nicoll cares and he certainly can rally but apparently he does have a full time job he needs to attend to. I'm guessing he doesn't love doing both his paying job and then the domestic tasks here while I lay under a heating blanket and watch 3 hours of Snapped on Oxygen. But once in a while, Mama needs to shut it down.
Maybe it's more than just the domestic responsibilities. Maybe it's just when everything becomes too much - the domestic stuff is the first to go. My hope is that tomorrow I will wake up rejuvenated and ready to get back in the game. But maybe tonight, in preparation for my anticipated rally, I will pour myself a glass of wine, draw my own bubble bath and write myself a note that says "you really do kick ass even though you didn't today....".
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