How did I become a slave in my own palace?
How is it, that at this age and stage of my life, I have become the slave in my own palace? At the beck and call of everyone, seemingly doing everything, planning everything, thinking about everything, and certainly washing everything. I know and we all know that women are capable of multi-tasking, but I am at the point of losing my marbles if I have to add one more domestic task to my already overloaded list of things to do. Which never seems to get shorter. Because more things to do keep getting added to the list of things to do. Because no one else will do them.
Once, and only once, I wrote a list of lists I had to make just to keep track of everything. At that point I knew I had gone too far.
The thing is, I gave up full time work three years ago. The one thing that brought me great personal pleasure and pride, albeit a very stressful job, but rightly or wrongly ,to a large degree it defined who I am. And people at work said 'thank you' at least once a day. They were grateful for the help I gave them. Partners were grateful I could help them have difficult conversations with people. Or tell people they didn't have a job any more. Of course i didn't realise how important gratitude is until about a month after I gave up work when I realised that no one in my family said thank you to me ever (except for my youngest child who is practically perfect in every way)
Anyhoo... I gave up work largely because I wanted to support my eldest to get through her last year of school, and I wasn't well suffering from severe neck pain and migraine, so decided to take a leave of absence, be a 'good mother', (oh that is the definition of optimism right there), get well, and then see what transpired from there. As it turned out my mum passed away very suddenly half way through my leave of absence and I started helping my dad so the plan to return changed dramatically at that point.
When I told my then 16 year old daughter I was going to be a full time mother for her last year of school and asked her if she thought that was a good idea she said 'I'm not sure it's going to make that much difference to be honest'. Nice. Middle child (boy) was excited about the prospect of cooked breakfasts. Youngest child (boy) burst into tears and wanted to know that our nanny/housekeeper/sanity saver would still be coming to our house and collecting him from school.
Excellent start. I should have known then and there it was possibly a mistake in terms of my personal growth.
So I became Mrs Holly Homemaker. Having worked at an enormous pace for many years and enjoying the intellectual stimulation I hurried with everything. GOT THINGS DONE. The days were busy. Lists of things to be done crossed off. I became an even more frequent flyer at kikki-k with lists, schedules and organising products.
The first moment of clarity came at the end of the first week. I realised that we had NEVER paid our nanny enough money. My God the woman deserved danger money dealing with my lot.
The second thing I realised is that I decided I hated driving. Some days I was in and out of the car from 3-7pm. Ferrying one child here picking up from there, dropping off here. Again - the nanny never got paid enough.
But the very worst part is that I quickly became a slave in my own palace:
Apparently I am the only person who can turn the washing machine on. And there is so much of it. I know I used to put a load of washing on before I went to work but I would come home and it was not only sorted, folded and ironed, but put away. Now I wash, sort, fold, wash sort fold, rinse and repeat. Groundhog day in the laundry only more mind numbing. Sometimes I'm sure I've washed clean clothes unpacked from suitcases because the little treasures can't be bothered to put their own clothes away.
Here are some of the more annoying things
- the inability of The Lawyer to write in the family diary things he has on after work, notwithstanding being asked seventy squiilion times. So if I actually organise an escape from the mundane with friends, relying on him to collect Harry from tennis, and having written it in the diary a month before and mentioned it five times in the previous week, I will find out on that morning that he is in fact having drinks with friends thereby rendering me completely mentally deranged as I try to rearrange things or call in yet another favour from friends. All the while gnashing my teeth.
- teenagers blind to the fact that the dishwasher has in fact been on and is full of clean dishes. So of course you will leave your dirty midnight feast dishes in the sink instead of unstacking and restacking the dishwasher. So that when I get up at 5.30 to resume my role as scullery maid the first thing I do is unstack the dishwasher.
- Having to constantly run the garbage disposal after teenagers have eaten. I mean is it that hard?
- Having to clean up after the teenagers have eaten.
- Having to find things people have lost/misplaced/ or just can't be fagged finding. Usually expensive things. 'Mum, I can't find my xxx'. 'I saw it on the floor of your room yesterday - look under the bed/doona/pile of dirty clothes o the floor/ dead rat the cat dragged in'.
- Having to argue the toss about why it is NOT on that I, the mother/slave/maid be left at home without a car while they are off having fun
- Calling the teenagers to dinner to hear them complain that dinner is not ready because it is not on the plates yet (seriously).
- Constantly thinking about food - what to cook, what to buy, how much to cook, not knowing how many people are actually going to be home for dinner (see diary rant above)
There is never a time there is nothing to do except at night and even then its questionable. That list is still there - written down but also in my head, constantly taunting me as something lurking in the back of my brain makes a sudden leap forward
Really, all I want is a simple 'thank you' every now and then. Or perhaps for someone to say 'is there anything I can do to help, mum'. Or best of all someone to make me a cup of tea. Sometimes at night I will say to The Lawyer 'would you please put the kettle on?' So he does. And lets it boil. And he walks away. Really.
Even the servants at Downton abbey are treated better than me
But that is going to change. No point complaining about it - I'm going back to paid work. And not just any work - I've started my own consulting business. So I still make lists but now its going to be lists of jobs for other people in the house to do during the day. Unstack the dishwasher. Hang out the washing. Fold the washing. And cook a goddam meal.
AMFYOYO - I'm back to the land of the living. I'll just cross write blog post of my list of things to do
