I love each of my children individually and even though it can't really be measured, I like to say that I love them all equally. Which mostly means, profoundly. But I do make note that sometimes I have different bonds with each of them.
With Steven, he is a heck of a bike rider. He rides straight and very fast, and begging pardon for the pun, he is a tireless rider. I'm like that, too. I could pack a backpack with food and with plenty of water I could stay out on my bike all day. And so, it's one of those things I really enjoy doing with him when we get a chance to get out alone. Steven finds great pleasure in taking his saved quarters and going in search of yard sales to find bargains on old toys. I like to take him out because it gives me a chance to work with him on paying attention, understanding direction and figuring out his right from left, but mostly, it's just fun.
Like going on a treasure hunt, following the haphazardly hung, bright pink or yellow address signs on telephone poles, leading to more signs with promising drawn-on arrows, and then, it's a matter of keeping a sharp eye for balloons on mailboxes pointing us to a halleluah-chorus of junk-filled driveways; a joyous plethora of old or broken, and almost-always dusty, crap.
On Saturday I ran into another mother who I know from a common circle of friends we share. I was telling her of my dilemma of working and then finding things to do away from home so I don't have to stay home at night to clean because my house is almost unbearable to me. Now look, I'm a freak, I know it. My idea of a clean house is that of a Martha Stewart level. I don't just want it tidy, and I don't just want to live in a clean house, I want it fucking CLEAN. And you know and I know: a man, 3 kids and a furry cat, it ain't never gonna happen. The house isn't gross or anything, it's just incredibly lived-in. And so, you know, I deal; I just leave.
(I see often on mother's blogs the Phyllis Diller quote about cleaning during childhood is like shoveling in a snow storm and it's the most apt analogy I've ever heard).
I'm not mean or a nag, and I prefer not to bitch about it, so I just find other things to do instead of coming home to the lived-in, albeit perceived, wreck. I'm tired after work and more work isn't my idea of a nice evening, but the dilemma it leaves me with creates it as a topic of conversation whenever I'm with another motherly kind of woman; mainly a co-dependent thing for the reassurance and support in telling me that I'm doing the right thing by ignoring it.
The lady I spoke with the other day, the lady from the yard sale, agreed and clucked sympathy, which I like, but also presented to me an alternative. She is also in business with her husband which leaves her little time for homemaking and, "So," she said to me, "I found me a wife."
I was like, "A wife?"
She said, "Yup. I pay her $27 for 3 hours and since she doesn't just assist me with work-related things, she also does housework for me, I can't call her an assistant, so I call her "a wife.""
Hmmm, the idea was intriguing to me... a wife.... I could use a wife. So I considered the idea of it. Not in any serious way since we all know how bad I am about commitment. But, the idea of paying someone else to... clean...
"Nicholas." I said later that evening.
"Hm." He grunted from the sofa while watching t.v.
"I have this idea." I said.
He rolled his eyes at me.
I reponded,"Ok no, listen, really."
He goes, "What?"
I proposed. "If you clean my bathroom I'll give you $10."
He raised his eyes to look at me... I've got his attention now.
I told him, "If you clean my kitchen floor, and the wallboards, I'll give you $10 more."
Pressing further I said, "And. if you fold all of the clothes I'll give you $25 in all."
He was doubtful, but negotiated, "OK. You're saying $25. That day. After I do it. You'll give me $25."
I promised. "I will."
With Steven, he is a heck of a bike rider. He rides straight and very fast, and begging pardon for the pun, he is a tireless rider. I'm like that, too. I could pack a backpack with food and with plenty of water I could stay out on my bike all day. And so, it's one of those things I really enjoy doing with him when we get a chance to get out alone. Steven finds great pleasure in taking his saved quarters and going in search of yard sales to find bargains on old toys. I like to take him out because it gives me a chance to work with him on paying attention, understanding direction and figuring out his right from left, but mostly, it's just fun.
Like going on a treasure hunt, following the haphazardly hung, bright pink or yellow address signs on telephone poles, leading to more signs with promising drawn-on arrows, and then, it's a matter of keeping a sharp eye for balloons on mailboxes pointing us to a halleluah-chorus of junk-filled driveways; a joyous plethora of old or broken, and almost-always dusty, crap.
On Saturday I ran into another mother who I know from a common circle of friends we share. I was telling her of my dilemma of working and then finding things to do away from home so I don't have to stay home at night to clean because my house is almost unbearable to me. Now look, I'm a freak, I know it. My idea of a clean house is that of a Martha Stewart level. I don't just want it tidy, and I don't just want to live in a clean house, I want it fucking CLEAN. And you know and I know: a man, 3 kids and a furry cat, it ain't never gonna happen. The house isn't gross or anything, it's just incredibly lived-in. And so, you know, I deal; I just leave.
(I see often on mother's blogs the Phyllis Diller quote about cleaning during childhood is like shoveling in a snow storm and it's the most apt analogy I've ever heard).
I'm not mean or a nag, and I prefer not to bitch about it, so I just find other things to do instead of coming home to the lived-in, albeit perceived, wreck. I'm tired after work and more work isn't my idea of a nice evening, but the dilemma it leaves me with creates it as a topic of conversation whenever I'm with another motherly kind of woman; mainly a co-dependent thing for the reassurance and support in telling me that I'm doing the right thing by ignoring it.
The lady I spoke with the other day, the lady from the yard sale, agreed and clucked sympathy, which I like, but also presented to me an alternative. She is also in business with her husband which leaves her little time for homemaking and, "So," she said to me, "I found me a wife."
I was like, "A wife?"
She said, "Yup. I pay her $27 for 3 hours and since she doesn't just assist me with work-related things, she also does housework for me, I can't call her an assistant, so I call her "a wife.""
Hmmm, the idea was intriguing to me... a wife.... I could use a wife. So I considered the idea of it. Not in any serious way since we all know how bad I am about commitment. But, the idea of paying someone else to... clean...
"Nicholas." I said later that evening.
"Hm." He grunted from the sofa while watching t.v.
"I have this idea." I said.
He rolled his eyes at me.
I reponded,"Ok no, listen, really."
He goes, "What?"
I proposed. "If you clean my bathroom I'll give you $10."
He raised his eyes to look at me... I've got his attention now.
I told him, "If you clean my kitchen floor, and the wallboards, I'll give you $10 more."
Pressing further I said, "And. if you fold all of the clothes I'll give you $25 in all."
He was doubtful, but negotiated, "OK. You're saying $25. That day. After I do it. You'll give me $25."
I promised. "I will."
posted by SPOA | 4:48 PM
4 Comments:
I really hope that works for you!
I've been wishing to pay a maidservice for some time now. But usually Eric gets so sick of it that he picks up and sweeps, and makes one of the boys vacuum and another one dust. All I really have to do is clean the bathrooms, and I'm still procrastinating. :P
You have articulated my feelings about a clean house perfectly. I always say that I want a really clean house, I just don't want to be the one to clean it. My sister was the perfect housekeeper. Her house and car was immaculate. I used to tell her that I was a wannabee. Getting it nice and clean is not the problem for me - it's keeping it that way. Impossible!
oops. poor grammar.
Well AS, it didn't. It did last about 1/2 an hour longer than the nanny gig I tried with him. He is going to one day make someone a really crappy wife. :)
Kiddo got a job screenprinting t-shirts. Fingers crossed :)
I agree Bella, I can get there... well if I am there :)... but in two shakes, it's over. I just wonder why people need to drink out of 12 different glasses a day?
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