I walk through the hallways of my house with a sense of purpose. I swear, if it were an old house where the lights could flicker, they would.
I enter each room as if I’ve arrived. There to save it from its peril of random undoneness. One would think misconstrued items would hop back into place and stand at attention at the seriousness of my arrival.
However, no matter what I do or how thunderously I choose to enter a room, the room itself always remains in the same state of affairs…undone. My own house disrespects me.
The coats I hung up in the morning…back in a pile on the guest room bed.
The dishes, cleaned, washed and put away….back in the sink.
The bathroom, polished, scrubbed and tidied…miles of blue toothpaste in the sink basin, Kleenex that didn’t make the wastebasket, mirrors sprayed with hard-water droplets.
The family room, vacuumed, picked up….suddenly returned to an endless sea of Legos, Hot Wheels and crushed cracker crumbs swimming under my feet.
The dust bunnies I chased under the couch…back out and rolling around as if on a furlough program.
Let’s not even zero in on the laundry, my absolute personal point of weakness. In all fairness, the act of doing the laundry is manageable while the machines do their part washing and drying it. It’s when I have to fold it and put it away into drawers and closets already so overflowing with clothes that my end of the bargain…fails.
I can’t even begin to speak about the care and maintenance of the pool…it’s just too consuming.
And of course I don’t even want to mention the cleaning of the refrigerator, the pantry, the dusting, the floors, making the beds, the garage and the yard work..because it would really be too much complaining if I brought all of those chores into this.
I sit here supposedly working…researching information to further my ambitions…what fence posts to purchase for the vineyard. Are they green? Made from sustainable materials? Locally produced? However, as I contemplate my choices, I see a lone plastic army man out of the corner of my eye. He’s under the couch, distracting me from my thoughts and ideas. I can’t help not picking him up.
So what’s the solution?
I don’t really want a housekeeper again. We fired ours after we found they were stealing money from the kid’s piggy banks…pulling the dollars out with tweezers while they should have been Ajax-ing the bathtub. It’s hard to trust again.
I don’t want a nanny or a regular sitter for the children. It’s the mothering…the act of parenting…keeping me real, down to earth and laughing at myself.
What I really want is a “life assistant”. Not a life coach who cheers you on, just a multifaceted individual who can pick up my slack…WITH EVERYTHING.
An organizer of the constant ebb and flow of distractions manifesting themselves daily.
Am I asking too much?