Saturday, 11 January 2014


Sometimes I fantasise...

About a brand new, matchbox square house, white walls, perfect floor, no clutter and everything SPOTLESS.

Then I open my eyes and see the DIRT.

Don't get me wrong: we're not "call the health department" dirty, or stinky dirty, or even 'How Clean Is Your House?' dirty.  We have the grubbiness that generates constantly around 4 children of 4 and under, and two knackered parents...

But sometimes it seems that I am constantly fire-fighting and never moving forward.

We have these great days on which everything is tidied away and we go to bed feeling smug.  Then one of the children has a bad night (or ALL of them) and we spend the next day staggering around moving things from one place to another, bumping into things and generally getting nowhere.

And we argue...

Ray and I rarely argue, but when we do it's always about time.  Time!  The one thing you can't get more of...  Can I have ten minutes to do this?  Or.. is it OK if I pop downstairs and do that?  The sad thing about it all is that it's 'ten minutes to chop wood for the fire,' or going downstairs to mop the floor.  Cleaning time feels like leisure time!!

Even going out today I took the dirty with me.  We got into our (dirty) car (must wash it), put the children in their crumby car seats (must hoover), put the double and single pushchairs in the back (both of which could do with a scrub) and went out.  We came back with the dirty car, dirty seats, dirty pushchairs and had acquired in addition a disorganised and dirty nappy bag and four grubby (but happy) children.

I honestly feel as if I'm running up a down escalator at times.

But (and it's a big but) (look over your shoulder if you're not sure what one of THOSE looks like...!), if someone asked me to swap my child-filled chaos for a sterile house that had no happy laughter, or pitter-patter of tiny feet (or SCREAMING or THUMPING of heavy feet) - the house I thought I might be left in when the IVF first failed - I'd tell you to **** off (in a variety of dirty words).

So, grubby and all, at least there's a white smile shining through the grime.  Think Dick Van Dyke coated in soot, but jolly nonetheless.  Then think of me..! :) 

Dirty b*tch.

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