Retreat

I was a woman on a mission. I had a job to do and the foresight to set a goal of accomplishing it a day ahead of schedule. I gathered my supplies. I headed out the door. Walked a few paces to my destination and pulled the handle...the door was locked. My mission was thwarted. I couldn't carry out my plan. I would either A) have to find a key and carry on as planned or B) reschedule until another time, giving up my grand endeavor of being ahead of myself.

I chose C) retreat...retreat far into oblivion because I really didn't want to see the task accomplished. I was feeling isolated, abused and unappreciated. So I did what any self-respecting, mature pastor's wife would do: brewed a pot of tea, found my hidden stash of chocolate truffles, turned on the computer, and watched 4 episodes from season 2 of Ballykissangel on Netflix.

Instantly I was transported to the fictionalized world of Niamh and Assumpta, Father Peter and Brian Quigley. I sat there for 4 hours! entralled by the brogue, green and lush landscapes, pubs, and pints. My escape. I am still a bit woozy from my trip. And I have this incredible urge to scour my house clean since Nora and Niamh were competing for the same and their attention to detail put me to shame.

How do you escape?

Miracles Do Happen

A miracle has happened at our house today. Not just one, I should say, several:
1) Aidan cleaned out his closet, with little to no prompting by me -- just voluntarily cleaned it out, albeit looking for a sacred lego piece
2) Ian thoroughly cleaned, vacuumed and moved his room around, albeit after much prompting on my part
3) I have done 4 loads of laundry today, all shirts are pressed and hanging in the closet, clean sheets are on the bed - the bed is made
4) There are NO piles of laundry to deal with and it's only 5:45pm!
Rejoice with me!

The Mundane of Daily Necessities

I've changed my "About Me" section a bit because I woke up this morning and realized I neglected my nightly routine of "picking up." As I was bending and stretching and bending and stretching and breathing and (feel the burn) I grew more and more frustrated. I let out a cry, "I am so tired of picking things up only to turn around and pick them up again!" Dave, in his merciful wisdom said, "Okay, stop sounding like a mom cliche'."

Seriously though, I get so frustrated with the never-ending duties (or are they privileges) of housekeeping. In order to stay ahead of the clutter I must perform my household aerobics daily. This has not sunk into my psyche - ya'd think after 16 years of picking up after kids (okay 18 years picking up after my husband, dear husband) I'd get over it.

I've read countless articles from Women's Day, Family Circle, Better Homes and Gardens, Real Simple (in the time when I subscribed to those mags) about how to declutter, best ways to organize your kid's toys, quickest cleaning tips, etc. It all comes down to laziness and doing what you have to do...plain and simple.

One aspect of the daily chore that I've come to appreciate is the exercise involved. Our dishwasher broke down months ago and I don't want it repaired. Why? More calories are spent washing dishes by hand then placing them in the dishwasher (My sister prefers washing by hand because it's her only quiet time, no one comes in the kitchen to bother her in fear they will be asked to help!).

My mother had a routine at night. She would (after we brushed our teeth) clean the bathroom sink. No one was allowed to use it after her nightly ritual. She abhored water spots. In this realm, I am not my mother's daughter, almost. I have come to find that nightly cleaning is the most satisfying. I know, for those brief hours in my sleep, that my house is organized and spotless.

Well, the dogs have tromped mud through the kitchen, again. Time to pull out my least favorite mop (which I'm beginning to appreciate more since I found I can refill the cleanser with my own mixture of water and vinegar - cant do that with the Swiffer!) and, once again, mop the floor. But hey, it's exercise!