Today we are travelling to my parents’ house to celebrate Thanksgiving. We will be taking the candle my four-year-old made in preschool. She molded the base from dried beans and glue, and placed a dark red taper in it. The message attached to the candle holder reads:
MY THANKSGIVING CANDLE Please light me each evening during dinner as a reminder of how thankful we are for one another.
Enough said. Happy Thanksgiving everyone.
In a last-ditch attempt to avoid the inevitable, I’m taking a few minutes to write about my reason for procrastinating today: I hate housework, and that’s the pressing matter at hand. Based on my parents’ recollections and my own memory, I have always been a messy person. I can remember the teenage years, with mountains of clothes strewn about, papers stacked and scattered, shoes tossed about like landmines and a bed that was only made when the sheets were changed. Don’t get the wrong idea — I can quickly find almost everything I need (unless someone else last moved it, and even then I’m the only one who actually looks for things as opposed to standing in the middle of a room whining, “I can’t find my shoe! I can’t find the remote!”). It’s not that I live in a dirty environment; I’m a germaphobe, so the mess is, ironically, relatively clean. I just dwell in perpetual clutter and piles of clothes.
I don’t mind washing clothes because, let’s face it, that’s ridiculously easy. What I avoid is folding, hanging and putting away the various shirts, pants, towels, sheets, underwear and such. The number of nouns in the preceding sentence should explain why. There are four of us in this house, two of whom are too short to see the top of the washer and dryer, and one of whom who rarely uses either. That leaves me to clean every piece of fabric in our house that is worn, slept on, or used to dry various body parts. Then there’s the kitchen hand towels, bibs, and daycare blankets. I think one load a day, maybe two on the weekends, would probably keep us caught up. It’s also a manageable amount of laundry to put away once it’s clean. I keep meaning to get to this point, but I haven’t gotten there yet. Instead, I’m still trying to reach the finish line of my laundry marathon so I can finally start my daily relay.
I’ve consulted experts (via books and Internet) to refine (read: acquire) my cleaning skills. My favorite is FlyLady — she starts you out in baby steps and gives you a plan and purpose in your housecleaning efforts. (I totally cracked up at her acronym “CHAOS” — Can’t Have Anyone Over Syndrome. It’s funny because it’s true.) She favors clearing clutter as the most efficient means of keeping a tidy house. If you can get rid of all of the unnecessary, you can keep the remains organized and in their places. She eschews procrastinating and supplies tips to “sidetracked home executives” on how to get started each day, and on an easy daily schedule in a journal. I love it — I just haven’t printed my journal yet because I’ve been too lazy to turn off the laptop, drag it downstairs to the printer, plug it in and reboot. Wow, that looks so sad in print. I need to get it done, start with my baby steps to attain some sense of order, and follow the plan.
That’s applicable to all of my housecleaning goals: to get to the point where I can start a routine of easy daily upkeep. I have my own great plans for the cleaning and organization of this house — I actually daydream about this frequently. I also thought this was my chance, being off work for a couple of months. The visions of organized drawers and closets, counters free of mail and toddler artwork, and floors without the challenge that is an obstacle course of toys — why can they not come true? Besides the fact that I could never get a job as a maid?
Maybe it’s also because I married a slob, too. And we have spawned two slobs-in-training. To be fair, my daughters learn what they see, and they are usually willing to help out when asked. My husband, though he probably wouldn’t admit it, is just like me. He yearns for a clean and shiny environment and is constantly bothered by the mess, but he doesn’t want to deal with it himself. Sadly, we manage to pull off whirlwind cleaning frenzies when we are expecting company, actually managing to get the house in respectable shape, then trash it in a matter of days. It’s just too easy to backslide.
Good, I’ve left myself just enough time to do a half-ass job on the two rooms in the worst condition: the kitchen and family room. I have got to get a good-paying job — I need all the domestic help I can get.
My new outlook led to my giving thanks for assorted things yesterday, big and small. A quick recap:
I am thankful for Cheerios. They are easy to dole out in snack-sized portions. If they spill, they are not wet, don’t stick or stain, and aren’t painful to step on. If one actually makes it into my child’s mouth, it is healthy and nutritious. They really are the perfect toddler food.
I am thankful that I had a job interview. Though it was my first spawned by my résumé onslaught, and quite possibly the only, it was comfortable and productive. I am grateful even for the opportunity, and pray for a resulting job offer.
I am again thankful that I passed the bar, especially having talked to two of my friends yesterday who did not. They are gearing up to begin months of studying again, and I, fortunately, am not. I am still washed in gratitude and relief.
Now, I sit in my living room knowing that I am being given a sign to be thankful that we have clothes to wear. I know this because it looks as though a laundromat threw up in here. Clothes are everywhere. My sometimes-handy husband fixed our dryer, which was squeaking and squealing with such variety of pitch, tone and volume that it brought to mind what a fatally injured elephant must sound like in its death throes. Once it was repaired, I began a laundry marathon to catch back up, but am unable to bring myself to keep up with folding, hanging and putting away the clean clothes. As a result, there are piles and stacks covering the coffee table and couch, in addition to the usual kid-related mess strewn about the floor.
I am thankful that I have a vacuum that picks up Cheerios.
This shouldn’t be that hard, but after you cover the big ones — being alive, roof over my head, food to eat, family — you have to stretch to find the plus side to some of the more ambiguous happenings of life. I know that I shouldn’t take for granted those aforementioned blessings, and I really try not to, so I am concentrating first on them and then on more subtle gifts.
I am thankful that I’m alive. I have made it through my childhood, when you couldn’t protect yourself from anything and relied on the help of others. I have made it through my teenage years, when you feel invincible (at times) and mostly need protection from yourself. I also made it through early adulthood, when, for some reason, I remained wild and invincible, and scored a great husband who helped protect me from myself. I had two children, and made it through childbirth (which is still a leading cause of death in women in much of the world) to morph into the protector rather than the protectee. Now I count each day that I get to watch my girls grow up as a blessing.
I am thankful for the roof over my head. Actually, the house that we live in now was one of my life goals. I didn’t aim for some overly spacious million-dollar mansion, but a nice home with the space that we needed and potential for future improvement projects. It was move-in ready, in the exact area of town in which I wanted to live (with a good school district, too) and has just the right amount of amenities. Most importantly, it keeps the rain off our heads, protects us from the heat and cold (the addition of a few energy-saving weatherstrips and such will make it even more efficient) and keeps our little family happy and contained. I see people every day in my own city who lack this very basic need, nevermind a home like ours.
I am thankful that I have food to eat. It’s easy to forget that so much of the world’s population, including plenty of people in our own country, struggle to find enough nourishment each day. I simply head to my local grocery supercenter and choose the items in wide variety and abundance that my family needs. I may complain about our lack of current funds and jokingly mention that we are headed for another “all-spaghetti” month, but the truth is that we do not ever go hungry. Embarrassingly, we probably waste more food than millions of people even have the opportunity to eat.
Most importantly, I have my children, my husband, my parents and other loving members of my family. I may be in the minority just by making that claim. Whatever we go through, good or bad, we go through together. Whatever the meaning of life is, I am sure it has something to do with the unconditional love you feel for your children, and the joy (and even pain) they bring you. As I wrap up this overly sappy and completely generic post, I do so as my youngest calls for me and it is time to help my oldest daughter get ready for preschool. Duty calls, and it is the best duty I could ever ask for.
My outlook did improve yesterday as the day went on. I found several relevant things to be thankful for, just by examining the events that have taken place this weekend. In the spirit of the upcoming holiday, I will make it a mission to put into words the things I have to be happy for.
I think that’s a good start. I feel better already.
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