Category: Chores
Tuesday, Sep 23, 2008 | Chores, Cooking, Kids, Laundry |
Morning meditation while hanging out laundry. There’s something in this near-daily (seasonal) experience that I find soothing. It’s certainly not laborious, just kind of rhythmical, picking out the pins, shaking out the fabric, hanging, repeat. I stand on the back porch and our clothesline is on a pulley, and the clothes swing out into the yard, under the trees. The air this morning was cool, birds were singing, behind me on the porch baby CJ was talking happily to himself in his gigantic plastic bouncy device (we haul this out of the basement for every baby; it’s ugly and bulky and suitable for only a few months in a baby’s life, but was already used when we got it for baby A, so has served its purpose well).
I’m looking ahead and wondering whether there will be some way to hang laundry indoors when the weather turns. Partly for energy-savings, partly to add moisture to our upstairs rooms, and partly because there’s something that seems particularly wasteful about using a drier to do a job that the air will do naturally, given the opportunity.
Darn, I have a very fussy baby strapped to me in a sling as I type. As usual, thought I’d picked a good “Mommy time” moment, and as usual, Mommy time is, by definition, interrupted time. I should call it something else. Not-Mommy-time, maybe.
Okay, brief pause and she’s back … baby CJ is now sleeping in his playpen; all he needed was a quick nurse to put him over the edge. My thoughts feel very random today and unfocussed, but to add to the laundry meditation, I wonder whether it is actually being outdoors that makes that experience so soothing. Last winter, when I was very pregnant, I went for a long walk every evening around our neighbourhood, (by the end, when I was somewhat-less-than-dainty, I called it my nightly trudge) and it was the first winter that I felt connected to that season in a really positive way. Winter has always been dark, cold, interior; not unpleasant, but more hibernation than actual interaction with the season itself.
Seasons. We’ve entered autumn. I feel my own life on the edge of a seasonal change, from a time of intense focus on babies and toddlers, to something, not quite sure what, else. There’s a Last Time sensation to many of the things I do with baby CJ. This time, the infant clothes have gone into a bag to give away, not back into the labelled boxes I keep in our attic for our babies-to-come. I have that simultaneous tug, forward and back; I’m excited and almost impatient to reach a new stage as a family (and an individual); and I’m nostalgic for what is passing right before me.
Oh, have to mention that my curries turned out fabulously yesterday, despite the spice mix-up (or, indeed, perhaps because of it!). We sat around the table extra-long, savouring the flavours, something for everyone to enjoy. These more formal evening meals have become very important to me, even though it requires more work. We sit longer, we talk, we relax in each other’s company, we eat good food. Not sure what I’ll have on offer tonight. I’m planning a pasta, with topping/sauce uncertain as of yet. I might stir-fry some tofu and whatever veggies arrive in our CSA. It needs to be simple and fast because I’ll be trying to get out the door afterward for some real “not-Mommy-time” with my sibs.
One more random story from yesterday’s truly Monday Monday. F’s Chirp magazine arrived in the mail, so I suggested she read it on the way to pick the big kids up from school (anything to make that stroller ride more appealing). It came with some advertising, including a toy catalogue, apparently more exciting than the magazine itself, so F said baby CJ could “read” Chirp instead. Mama Fuzzy-Brain said, oh lovely, and marched gaily up the hill, meeting up with a friend and fellow parent on the way, and chatting merrily along. It wasn’t till we’d reached the school grounds and I saw a dad glance into the stroller with an odd expression on his face that I thought to check on my babes. Oops. F was sound asleep, and baby CJ had eaten a large portion of Chirp magazine. A few damp papery flecks decorated his cheeks, but I could discover no wad in his mouth. Yup. He literally ate it.
But as with all of yesterday’s Monday-ness, it seemed to do him no harm, and we all came out happy in the end.
And now I need to turn my attention to F and our Tuesday morning ritual of baking muffins together from her very own Toddler Cookbook.
Sunday, Sep 21, 2008 | Chores, Kids |
Everything feels squeezed today–squeezed into our one day in this week as a full-together family, one day for rest and work, and not nearly enough time for either. Woke up to the dishes that hadn’t gotten done all day yesterday. Clearing the kitchen took about an hour of pure old-fashioned work. Kinda regretted not having a dishwasher simply to solve that situation; but I sought comfort from the radio. CBC’s Sunday Edition ran a piece on activists, which felt almost like research, as the book I’m working on is about activism (at least in part). I’m queen of the multi-task, and to be feeding my mind while working on a necessary task is divine conflation.
Now I’m baking cookies for school lunches and this week’s playgroup, while blogging. I was also listening to Tapestry on CBC, but that seemed like one task too many for my brain. As soon as this first round of cookies comes out of the oven, I’ll be nursing the baby. Cookie dough prep time was also bonding-with-three-year-old time; if, that is, it can be considered bonding time to participate in some version of the following conversation for a full twenty minutes: “Mommy, can I lick that bowl?” “After we’re done making the cookies, yes you can.” “Mommy, can I lick the spoon?” “In a minute.” Zero pause. “Mommy, can I lick the spoon?” “Hang on.” “Mommy can I lick that bowl?”
Just realized I also have to get something together to take to the Euclid Street party, which has already started. And AB needs to be picked up from a birthday party. And so I will cut this post short as I turn the radio back on and chop some veggies while slapping cookie dough onto trays.
But here is what I’m thinking about today, as a general ongoing topic: I’m thinking about how to feed myself; not in an indulgent way, but in a deep and spiritual way, and I’m thinking about how to do that while still doing this full-time parenting job, which leaves very little time on the side for self. It’s hard to find time even to notice what’s missing when I’m folding laundry at 10pm (as I was last night) with a kitchen full of dishes waiting upon waking.
Here’s a small wishlist to start: Jogging. Yoga. Meditation. Walking. Movies. Books. Libraries. Spanish lessons.
Saturday, Sep 20, 2008 | Chores, Kids |
Baby CJ is sitting up! This is an improvement on his rolling-around-the-room moves because at least when he’s upright, he stays in one place.
Last night I went to bed at nine o’clock. I don’t just mean I was upstairs in my pajamas reading a book. I mean I went to bed and fell asleep at nine o’clock, and slept undisturbed (baby CJ went to bed at the exact same time) till 2am. That’s a grand total of five hours uninterrupted sleep, the most I can remember getting at a stretch for … well, apparently sleep deprivation affects memory, and, frankly, I can’t remember since when. Let’s safely say it’s been at least 5 and 1/2 months. Then, of course, I felt so refreshed at 2am, I thought I wouldn’t be able to get back to sleep. No worries. Sleep returned quickly. Along with some really disturbing dreams. I had to keep waking up to analyze them for peace of mind.
This afternoon is Nina’s potluck for buying club. On the advice of my children, I’ll be making baked beans (using honey and maple syrup from the buying club). Unfortunately, we have to walk uptown to the get the beans before they can be made. That’s on my morning to-do list, which is shorter than the usual Saturday’s, as I’m on my own today. Saturdays are generally catch-up days, folding laundry, changing sheets, vacuuming, bathrooms, et cetera; and today I will forego most of those chores in order to spend time with the kids. Which sounds pretty pleasant when I put it that way.
Breakfast crumbs … you’ve been given a reprieve. You’re living on borrowed time, so enjoy the floor while you can.
Oh, have to add a post-coffee update. Baby CJ went for a nap and whilst I was hanging laundry on the line (I should add that I really enjoy hanging laundry; or maybe you’ve already noticed that), and enjoying my first cup of coffee, the kids started an art project in the living room that I’ve only just now cleaned up. Actually, what I’ve just finished cleaning up was in fact their clean-up … props for effort, but sigh. The art project involved large paint brushes, newspaper, yogurt containers of water, water colours, homemade paste, and tissue paper. Dunno what the end result was intended to be, but I’m guessing the damp raggedy clumps of decomposed newsprint soaking into the carpet wasn’t in the original plan. Kid cleaning instinct then suggested this should be swabbed up using sopping wet cloths.
I’m positive this is karmic payment for my own childhood, and only wish I were of the temperament to revel in creative disaster. I’m not saying my house is neat, because it’s not; but in my head, it’s supposed to be. I think often of my grandmothers, both of whom kept/keep such spick-and-span homes. My mother has a story about her mother, who worked, rising at 5 in the morning to scrub their kitchen floor on her hands and knees. Sometimes when I’m pawing around swiping cupboard fronts with random dishtowels or sweeping handfuls of cut-up construction paper into the palm of my hand, I think of my grandma rising extra-early to scrub the kitchen floor, and how far, in a mere two generations, the standards of cleanliness have fallen. (Or maybe some of my friends are secretly rising at dawn …??).
So the art project has been cleaned up. But to offer a minute-by-minute update on the breakfast crumbs’ itenerary: they’re still insolently lolling about beneath the kids’ stools.
Wednesday, Sep 17, 2008 | Chores |
Apparently, I ordered a 1/2 bushel of red peppers from our CSA last spring, because they arrived yesterday evening. I kept saying, “Did I really order these? Are you sure these are ours?” I was in such a state of denial, I even went so far as to call my bro, who also gets the same CSA box, to find out whether these might be their peppers instead (same last name, you know). But nope. My sister-in-law-to-be assured me the peppers were mine.
So I dealt with them. I think I’m done dealing with food for the summer. I feel just so very very done. I did not roast these peppers, as probably would have been the ideal storage solution; I just seeded them and chopped them and chucked them into freezer bags and old yogurt containers. Guess I’ll be looking up recipes for red pepper soup this winter. I’ve heard you can actually eat these peppers raw, upon thawing, so we shall see. That would be a fine mid-winter treat. But perhaps you can sense my flagging enthusiasm. Oh, it’s half-mast, for sure.
Kevin says yesterday evening: “You seem really grumpy. Are you feeling grumpy?”
Uh yah. The kids are still up and going into hysterics because it’s past bedtime (letting them play outside till dark, to savour what’s left of this summer season). Everyone wants a snack. AB refuses to get out of the shower till the bathroom is sufficiently fogged up. I’m halfway done washing vats of dirty dishes. There’s still laundry on the line. Baby CJ is fussy with a stuffed-up nose. And I have a half-bushel of red peppers to deal with sitting on my counter.
Oh, and it’s hockey night.
So yah. I had the grumps. But I cleared away those peppers in record time, dishes got done, kids fed and read to and teeth flossed and brushed, the laundry abandoned to the basket for another day, et cetera. I even had a few minutes to read in bed before nursing fussy baby off to sleep. I’d cheered up by that point. I’m not against momentary grumpiness, but it seems an emotion unwise to indulge in for any sustained period (more than fifteen minutes? half an hour?), lest one weary the patience of those forced to share accomodation with one. Besides, I ordered those peppers. It must have been me. So I can blame no one but myself. And I don’t like indulging in self-grumping either.
But I should add, in all fairness to my husband, that the only reason he asked me whether I was grumpy was because I had accused him of it in the first place. Ah, projection. I’m in a bad mood, so I’ll turn to Kevin and say, “You’re in a bad mood.” He’s been around long enough not to take this personally. And I’ve been around long enough to appreciate (if grumpily) having it pointed out that the mood is all mine.
Tuesday, Sep 16, 2008 | Chores, Kids |
The well runneth dry. Clearly this is the case, because I have in mind that I would like to write a blog about cleaning; but how boring would that be? I have theories about cleaning (these are highly mutable and vary wildly), but, honestly, do these need to be shared? Yet I find myself mentally blogging on and on about cleaning. Likely because it’s something I spend way too much time doing.
Or laundry. Every time I hang the clothes out to dry, I think, I should blog about this. Heh. Blog about what exactly? About how often I’ve managed to line-dry laundry even though it’s been such a rainy summer and I’ve got a new baby and … As my son A would say, “Mommy, are you bragging?” Pause. “Uh, yes, maybe I am.” “Why are you bragging?” “Uh, hmmm, good question little analyst, and now I’ll stop.” “Mommy, I think you’re doing it again.” “Oh dear heavens, you’re right, I am!”
The above is a (mostly) accurate exchange that occurred over puzzle-making together.
Anyway, my cleaning theories go something like this: Get used to the mess and you’ll be a happier person. It’s just going to happen. Let it happen. Make the kids clean up their own rooms.
And then morph into this: Good grief, this place is a freaking disaster zone. I can’t stand looking at those breakfast crumbs even one minute longer. At which point I drop everything in order to clean said floor. And the kids “organize” the games cupboard.
So theory number one is clearly hypocritical.
Another good theory: It’s possible to clean whilst doing other things. Such as, scrubbing the toilet while the children take a bath. Not the baby, though. That would be going just slightly too far for the sake of cleanliness. Don’t use theory if drowning is a risk. I do put this theory into practice quite often, though. Whilst removing dirty towel from bathroom floor, simultaneously use towel to clean the floor and cupboard faces. For example. But my life is a series of boxes opening inside other boxes, so that when one enters a room to do something particular, one is faced by a second and often more pressing problem, the solution for which leads into a third even more urgent disaster, and on and on till the original item of duty is utterly lost. Not to worry; one will stumble over it later.
And that is a brief overview of Carrie’s cleaning theories. Are they even theories? They’re probably more like administrative memoes for the homemaking pataphysician. “Uh, Mommy …”
Yah, yah, I hear ya kid. Must. Stop.
Thursday, Sep 11, 2008 | Chores, Kids |
Always leaves me foggy. Today I was pleased by what got written, but almost felt distressed when I was done–not by the fact that my time was up, but because I hadn’t spent that “lost” time with the kids instead. It almost seems like a waste to spend these hours in an imaginary world when my actual family is actually doing and being and experiencing their youngest years. It’s funny, but the story I like best that I wrote this spring is about the passage of time. Sometimes it feels like that’s all I’m really writing about. About time past, and passing, hurrying us along and away from where we are this moment. And here I am, missing out on what’s hurrying past because I’m so busy writing about it.
And now I’m writing more, instead of responding to the game the kids have started playing spontaneously: something to do with cleaning the house??? Is this possible? AB: “Whoa, your house is really dirty!”
Then again, by writing about it, I also get to keep it, at least a few shreds …
AB to her brother: “Do you think this is the dirtiest house we’ve gone through?”
Good grief–I know it’s messy in here, but has it gotten that bad?
The problem is that once I get going writing, it’s so hard to turn it off. I need a little switch in my brain that can be flipped … ok, done thinking, now just BE. Writing is intensely private and requires such interior concentration that it takes time, maybe even hours, to crawl back out again and be properly engaged with this house and the needs of these little people populating it.
Will now turn away from the glowing screen and attempt re-entrance into the afternoon.
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