It had never occurred to me that someone would think homicidal tendencies and an aversion to domestic drudgery went hand in hand. One more reason to try harder to find my inner housewife? Well, no. I only have so much emotional and physical energy to give, and I regularly choose to spend it actually holding my baby or dancing with my little girl, rather than cleaning the house. If you think that's being a bad mother, fuck you. No one ever got up at their mother's funeral and talked about how immaculate her house was.
http://www.pinterest.com via Diane Fry
And because I'm in a pissy mood, I'm now going to indulge myself in a mini rant that's been irritating me for quite some time. Feel free to skip down two paragraphs if you don't want to hear it. It's that term: "family-friendly," which when defined, appears to exclude me. What the FUCK? I'm very friendly and I have a husband and two babies I love very much. What about that makes the mommy-nazis squirm in their bloomers?
Ohhhh...it's the swearing. Or the willingness to talk openly about uncomfortable things, which apparently includes sex (how the fuck did these ladies get their babies? Because getting mine involved a penis and a vagina). Presumably my blog is read by adults, so I see no need to keep things G-rated. I don't expect everyone to be comfortable with that. I do expect them not to define their discomfort in terms that suggest I'm not fit to be around a family. FUCK THAT SHIT. Just say "no swearing or nudity, please" and leave it at that. I am capable of restraining myself.
Anyway. Lately the house has been more out of control than even I can handle, and my stress level has been ratcheting up nicely as a result. When I look around the room, my eye snags on every single thing that isn't in the right place and immediately begins running through the entire history of that item since I purchased it:
That dressy cardigan shouldn't be in the living room. Well, when I bought it six years ago I used to keep it in the front hall closet, so I wouldn't forget to take it to work when the air conditioning was too high. Sometimes it didn't quite make it into the closet and I would just leave it on the living room couch. But since I got promoted three years ago I don't wear cardigans at work anymore, so it shouldn't be in the living room. It should be in the closet upstairs. But in which row of the closet? It doesn't belong with my work clothes anymore. But it's really dressy. It doesn't fit with my casual clothes. Hmm. Maybe I should get rid of it. No! It's a perfectly good dressy black cardigan and who knows when I might be at a semi-business casual event where a jacket looks too stuffy, but my regular sleeveless blouse will be just a little too casual, and I'll think, 'If only I had a dressy black cardigan.' It's kind of wrinkled from lying there though. I should wash it. So then it should go in the laundry, not the closet. OMG I am so tired of thinking about this fucking cardigan!
You can see how this kind of internal dialogue about every item that is not in precisely the right place could get exhausting. Generally by the second item I've given up and decided to watch The Office (if kids are awake) or Dexter (if kids are asleep). As I was moping around thinking about how I didn't want to make New Year's resolutions (see Vince Vaughn below for why), I realized that some of the mess stress could be permanently alleviated by doing a decluttering blitz.
I started with my Facebook friends list (which is a whole other post) and that felt so good that I'm on a roll. Basically anything I don't absolutely love (and have some hope of fitting into again) is going to Goodwill or the dump. So my weekend plans are set. I'm going to declutter and I'm so excited I feel euphoric.
Wish me luck. Maybe I'll take pictures.