Crushing the housewife gig? Me neither. With being a stay at home mom for the last six years, one may assume that I’ve got killer skills in the housewife department. Maybe I should. Truth is, I don’t.
Dinner. Do I really have to make it everyday? Why not every other, or heck, even every third? I’ve run out of dinner ideas. We eat the same handful of things all.the.time. Got a recipe you don’t mind passing along? Drop it in the comments section! I could use a fresh take on meals.
Dishes. I hate doing the dishes. The minute I get the dishes done, someone is throwing a bowl in the sink from their nighttime snack. It’s an everyday occurrence. It’s never-ending. More than once I’ve thought about letting my husband take the dirty dishes out back and use them as target practice.
Mopping. I rarely mop the kitchen floor. I’m better now than I ever have been, but it still only gets done, *gasp*, once a week…maybe. There seems to be an unwritten (or maybe it is written) rule in my house that the minute I mop, the boys come running through with their muddy barn boots on. Or spill their juice. Or smear their popsicle on the floor. All that scrubbing and hard work and I can’t even enjoy it for ten minutes.
Baking. Typically, I heart baking. I’m usually a decent baker, there’s only been a few epic fails over the years. The other day, Ben accidentally opened a can of sweetened condensed milk. HE WAS GOING TO THROW IT AWAY! What!? NO! I covet that crap in my pantry. So I decided to make some brownies. Because who doesn’t love brownies!? With two minutes left on the timer, smoke started pouring from my oven. It was like smog had settled into my kitchen. We had every window open, the kitchen door open, fans running trying to blow the smoke away from the main living area. It’s 20* out. My one-year-old was standing on the couch yelling “HOT!” and trying to blow it out. My two-year-old thought it was hysterical and kept asking “Why you do that, Mama?” Oh, i don’t know, E. I thought maybe it would be fun for us to choke and gag from smoke inhalation. In the rare instance the six-year-old would pause from his Kindle, he’d yell “You’re no good at baking, MOM!” Ensue scraping little hockey pucks of molten lava off the bottom of my stove. That was fun. Good thing I had some Lemon Essential Oil on hand, it’s my favorite degreaser. But hey, the brownies made it and were super tasty for anyone wondering. It wasn’t a complete fail.
Degreaser. That reminds me, the kitchen sink is in serious need of a scrubbing. I may or may not have been crafting for my sister’s upcoming Princess themed baby shower and sprayed aerosol glue all over. (It was better than the floor, right?)
Laundry. Ugh. Laundry stacks up around here like the Leaning Tower of Pizza. That chore I sincerely despise. Wash. Dry. Fold. Put away. Never-ending. Around here, it’s more like Wash. Dry. Toss in a laundry basket until I can’t avoid the overflowing basket anymore.
Vacuum. I’ve gotten pretty creative with the vacuuming. On days that I really just can’t bare to bend over and pick up the bazillion toys on the floor, I pick up the ones capable of being sucked up and push around the rest. Vacuum a strip, then push the toys to the vacuumed area and continue on. Or, I stick my husband on vacuum duty. BOOM. Mission accomplished.
What’s my point? So you’re not a great housewife. Neither am I. That doesn’t put a value on you. No value is attached to how clean your house is or how fancy your dinners are. We’re humans raising tiny humans. That in itself is exhausting. Grant yourself some grace, Mama. We’re all doing the best we can with what we have. And that’s all we can ever expect of ourselves.