After my always busy Thursday, I think to myself, “Oh good, it’s almost the weekend. My husband is home, we’ll be able to get on top of the cleaning, get organized for the week, and maybe I’ll get more writing done. But the house, we’ll get on top of the cleaning. Totally.”
Are you laughing? You should be. I’m laughing at Thursday Me. She’s ridiculously hopeful, an optimist who has a terrible memory.
On Friday evening after I’ve cooked dinner, I rationalize my plan. “It’s okay to just leave the housework for tonight. It’s really not that bad, anyway. Maybe I can convince the kids to go to bed early so I can get a head start? Nah, we’ll just watch a movie together. I’ll start the cleaning and organizing tomorrow.”
Relaxing is a much easier chore than, well, you know, any real chore.
Meanwhile, the kids do that kid thing where they manage to make messes that just don’t seem humanly possible, and are sort of confusing. Despite the fact that this happens every single weekend, I always forget come Thursday. I also do this thing, because when your partner works 12-16 hour days and you only see them for half hour increments, sometimes not at all, you forget all their transgressions. I get excited, because he’s an adult. A real breathing adult! In my house! He can help with the kids, and I can go grocery shopping alone! I can write for hours! We can get up super early, and drink our coffee while discussing adult things like the adults we are! An adult!
That never happens. None of it. I don’t generally grocery shop alone, because one kid wants to come with. So I relent. We both are exhausted, so we sleep as late as the kids will allow. Writing can’t happen because the kids are loud and excited that Daddy is home, and they are home together and they have all the hours to play together.
Let me preface this next section by saying I love my husband. I do, I swear. However, in the span of two days, he manages to make the same amount of mess that the three of us do throughout a five day period. He doesn’t believe me when I tell him this via text while cleaning up dozens of gross dirty socks from the living room (his natural habitat on the weekend). Or when I ask him if he’s capable of throwing the Keurig pods in the trash when he’s finished having ten cups of coffee in a day. I’m exaggerating, he says. Because he’s not like that at all. Except that he is, and oh my god, one day I can’t wait for him to realize I’ve been right all along. I do love him…really.
Now, it’s Saturday afternoon, and the house is in complete disarray. The kids are fighting over who gets the television for their own screen time while I notice that it should be cleaned off when we finally get to cleaning. Instead, I send them out into the backyard because the snow is great for building snowmen, and they could run some of that energy off. I’m certain I’ve scoured the corners of the internet, and think, “This is boring. I should do something. Clean? Nah, I’ll go grocery shopping.” At this point, I’m not even denying the mess. I’m just straight up avoiding it. Yep, the house is a mess, and I don’t want to think what I would do if someone rang the doorbell to visit right now. Even as I step on the damn flyers in the entry way as I walk out the door to the grocery store, I’m still ignoring it. Maybe it’ll go away in the short period of time I’m at the store?
It doesn’t. It never does.
On Saturday night, we do a quick clean up because the kids want to have their weekly “sleepover” in the living room which entails lots of movies, Minecraft, and staying up too late. It takes me an embarrassing amount of time to vacuum so I remedy that by getting the kids to dust the end tables, and the shelves. After we’re settled, I wonder, “Hmm, that didn’t take too long. I think we could get this whole house done in under two hours tomorrow. Mopping included!”
That’s really cute, actually. Mopping? Right.
In the morning, video games will be played on the beds lying in the living room until mid-afternoon, at least. There is some sort of sportsing event on television too, which means the noise will be increased by the shouts of my husband yelling at the players. I forget that I’m going to wake up, have a coffee, browse the net, figure out lunch and dinner, and look at my calendar for the week. This always tires me, so instead of cleaning the bathroom, I have a nap. Of course, I consider cleaning the bathroom, but decide I’ll do it later. The nap? It was supposed to be a short one, but it never is. I don’t understand people who can nap either on the couch, or for short periods.
It was a great nap, though.
Now it’s Sunday night, and I’m thinking to myself, as I clean the bathroom, and throw in two necessary loads of laundry so we can at least have clean clothes for the next day, “I’ll be able to get to this tomorrow. It’s easier during the week when no one is home, and no one is here to make a mess. “
Yeah, except we have all the getting ready for school, all of the activities, and all of the other things that happen in a week. Then, the weekend will come and we’ll spend time together as a family, because that’s easier. Lather, rinse, repeat.
I am going to mop the floor tomorrow though. I swear.
(I probably won’t)