I spent the ENTIRE day (save an imbecilic running session around the Common in the pouring rain late morning) in the bloody kitchen clearing out...(wait for this)....TWO cupboards.
Yes. That's right. Two cupboards.
Now granted, both cupboards were scary zones...with doors we kept closed most of the time because to open them would unleash an avalanche of toys, paper bags, candles, marker pens, play-doh...need I go on?
Having spent my ENTIRE Saturday on such a tiny task has led me to reassess the likelihood that packing our lives up in the next month will leave me with a clean bill of mental health, and ready to embark on our adventurous Indian sabbatical. It will not.
Given that I am the only one who can ascertain what needs to be binned and what needs to be saved, getting any help from the husband or the boys will be an exercise in futility. I realised today that I am one of those poor souls (ie. control freak) who would rather do a perfect job herself than rope in help and compromise on standards.
You know what that means? I am a loser.
The husband couldn't believe his luck today when he peered into the kitchen, found me buried in a mountain of paper, plastic and junk, and yet was ordered by me to take Eggie out for a bike ride.
For once, he didn't waste a moment in getting the heck out of here before his crazy wife changed her mind. Smart boy.
In addition to this mammoth task today, I also somehow managed to whip up a big Indian dinner from scratch, some delicious homemade peanut butter cookies, and do several loads of laundry. It just goes to show you that crazy people often have super-human levels of stamina.
On the minus side, I have spent the day in sweat pants and a big dirty jumper. Not my best look. The husband pointed this out in delight, and rightfully so I suppose, after having suffered abuse for the past few weeks from moi for the abominable biking headwear he's recently purchased and has stubbornly insisted on wearing INDOORS...24/7... for the past few weeks.
I've been trying to explain that even though we've been together since we were teenagers, it's important to try and still look good for each other.
He has declared this a shallow outlook and says he doesn't care if I don't. Urghhh...
But how much credibility do I have after having spent the day resembling 'Waynetta Slob', complete with Nazi-like determination to scour and scrub away anyone or anything in my path? Wouldn't win any 'Yummy-Mummy' awards today, that's for sure...(might have however ranked up there in the 'Scummy-Mummy' Olympics).
At any rate, tonight I go to bed knowing one thing for certain (and no, it's not the fact that Dumpie's current haircut, according to the husband, now resembles that of a middle-aged Michael J. Fox, or a post-Oscar Philip Seymour Hoffman)...
No. Tonight I go to bed knowing the EXACT contents of two of my previously most shambolic cupboards. How's that for job satisfaction?
Might as well just kill myself now. I am BEYOND pathetic.
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