Merry Christmas and Happy New Year.
After enjoying a pleasurable break with ALL the family in Brisbane this year, we got sick. We took turns writhing around the bed with stomach pains for two days at a time, then we got on a plane and returned to Darwin.
There was a slight hiccup leaving Brisbane, thanks to Qantas and their ‘slow moving baggage belt’ and then the ‘global Qantas check-in system failure’. We made it back an hour late. Our bags didn’t make it back. We had low expectations to start with, but that’s another blog post.
Our bags did finally arrive on Sunday night around midnight, full of dirty clothes and thus, lots of washing, which I was, against my better judgement (always the way with washing, quite frankly), compelled to do. In preparation for a busy week of work and childcare etc. AKA reality.
So, the problem with returning from holidays and having one’s plans of organisation, laundry and general Domestic Goddessness, go down the gurgler, is that one is on the back foot for the rest of the working week.
And behold, being on that backfoot, I’ve had an epiphany: I am the Domestic Antichrist. Nigella, eat your 90 per cent cocoa-filled heart out.
Example one: I broke a bottle of vinegar on the kitchen floor today. While I was proud to utilise both the dustpan and broom, and an Enjo moppy microfibre thing in the cleanup, I wasn’t going anywhere near the vacuum cleaner to give the floor the requisite fifth-over, as it’s currently in a cupboard barricaded by half unpacked suitcases. As the mother of a crawler, perhaps I should have taken that final step, but a full time mother who is a full time worker doesn’t have the time fo OCD tendencies. Not this one, anyway.
Example two: The Sproglette’s food is currently comprised of what comes out of a can (corn), what Mr Moi and I didn’t eat last night (Spag Bog), and some old salmon patties I found cowering in the darkest corner of my frosty freezer, suffering from quite the case of freezer burn (I think I froze them before they were sufficiently cool). Additionally, it seems our chosen shampoo for the Sprog doesn’t cut the mustard, as her dinner has doubled as hair treatment on more than one occasion this week.
Example three: I sat down to write this post and download some photos. As I settled into the chair and booted up the computer, I reached my hand out to caress my beloved mouse-with-the-scrolly-wheel, giving it a little shake to let it know I was here. However, the mouse wouldn’t budge – it was cornered by a bunch of rather menacing looking cords and a whole lot of shit, basically.
Like so often before, this situation threatens to thwart my attempt at photo-ing and blogging, so I push my chair back and alas, can’t move.
You know? As someone who is rather domestically inadequate, it’s hard to sit down for a healthy dose of blogroll, only to be confronted by 478 unread posts about how perfect someone else’s life/house/child/furniture/style/skill/talent/etc is compared to mine. I always thought I couldn’t compare, until today.
I’ve decided to really embrace my Domestic Antigoddessnes and out myself as a messy. And there it was.
(Even that title needs to be decluttered!)