The non-gift that keeps not giving.

Do you know what I love about housework? Ooooh it’s so hard to choose! Oh actually no it’s not, it’s easy. Nothing! Do you know what I don’t love about housework? Everything. If you were to insist I narrow my distaste for domestic duties down to one little thing it would be this: the fact it never ends. Like ever, to quote Taylor Swift. It’s like some reverse magic pudding. The non-gift that keeps not giving.

Let’s talk about the groceries for example. For the purpose of this exercise let’s assume the best case scenario; that we are shopping without children. We sit down and gather our thoughts to write a list of everything the household might need for the week. A notepad on the fridge makes this easy(ish) for me because the minute something runs out I put it on the list. This is because, as ever, I try to make life easy. As ever, I rarely succeed. But with every good intention I sit down, plan the week of meals and set out to tackle the shops. So far so good.

I battle the weekend traffic (the price i’m willing to pay for shopping without little people), I nab a park usually after 20 minutes circling and then whizz around the supermarket trying to avoid colliding with every other parent in the city who is on the same mission.

I hope and pray the shelves are stocked with everything on the list which it usually isn’t, so I make a mental note that an additional trip to the other supermarket or green grocer will be required to collect basil/avocados that may actually be ripe within the week/or whatever else that wasn’t stocked but is in fact vital for one of the week’s meals. I then hand over an obscene amount of money to ensure the duopoly’s market domination continues and get myself home.

Once home I will then lug my supplies inside and begin unpacking, which, invariably, requires rearranging the fridge and the pantry to make room. This, in turn, invariably requires a trip to the rubbish bins because the rearrangements mean both bins – recyclables and non recyclables – now need emptying. I will then unpack the supplies and pour a stiff gin and tonic before I start humming quietly for an hour. Ha…tricked you!  

I won’t do that because I need my faculties for a bit longer. At some point soon enough, sometimes even immediately, it will inevitably be time to prepare one of the scheduled meals. I will peel, chop, sear, simmer as required, ensuring I use several different implements and pieces of equipment as I go. Because despite my best intentions to keep life simple, life will laugh at my futile attempts and make my kitchen messy.

I might then boil, bake, steam and, depending on the age and stage of each  offspring, puree some of this dish. Oh goody more equipment to use and later clean! It is now time to serve and feed the children. Depending on their moods at least some of this lovingly prepared meal will end up in their mouths. Of course a much larger portion of it will go untouched and even more again will be smeared on the highchair and the table.

I will chat, sing, dance on my head…anything to cajole my toddler to swallow something of nutritional value and prevent my baby from tipping the bowl on her head. Or mine. (Not because I am obsessive about their dietary intake but because I am obsessive about ensuring the whole grocery-shopping meal-preparing exercise is not entirely in vain.)

At the end of all this I will then put my head in my hands and ask myself “Why? Why must we continue this eating charade so many times a day???” Well I would do that if I had time. I don’t. There’s a meal to clean up!! Dishes to scrub, surfaces to wipe, highchairs to clean, plates to scrape, cups to rinse. Not to mention clothes to soak. It never ends. Like ever.

If I’m lucky and I unstacked the dishwasher earlier, like the good responsible housekeeper that I am, the clean up might be quick and simple. It probably won’t be. Even if it is though that’s just one meal out of 21 I’ll be providing in a week. If you eat two meals out a week, which when you have small children and are on a budget is probably good going, you will be preparing, serving and cleaning up 19 meals a week. And that’s not even counting snacks. Or the fact I don’t like eating at 5.30pm so mostly host two dinner sittings every night. And that is just food.

We haven’t even dealt with the laundry, the bathroom, the toys or the carpet. Plus before we know it, all the food will be eaten and it’s time to set off for the shops once again. See what I mean about the non gift that keeps not giving?

When I started maternity leave I remember thinking it was so novel that I could put a load of washing on and be home to hang it out. I even said that out loud so my sister can vouch for me. The novelty lasted about a day and now every load of washing practically brings me to tears. Which is a crying shame, pun intended, because I do at least two loads every day. Why you ask? Let me tell you.

Babies have an extraordinary knack for making their clothes supremely dirty; not with invisible sweat that you could potentially ignore but with all manner of highly visible matter. Their bedding, muslin cloths, blankets, car seats and adults in their vicinity are not immune from their messy magical ways so it’s quite easy for them to singlehandedly fill the washing machine daily.

Also because most great baby foods have carrot or pumpkin or sweet potato in them it’s usually not as simple as just whacking them in the machine. A bucket of Napisan is always full.

Toddlers are marginally better at keeping themselves clean but if you have a daughter like mine who changes her clothes regularly throughout the day chances are they can still dirty upwards of six garments. A day. Add in the odd accident and we’re doing their sheets and mattress protectors too. Hence my close and fractious relationship with my washing machine.  

The cruellest part of all this is that it never ends. There is no demarcation between the week and the weekend when it comes to domestic duties. So long as there are mouths to feed and bodies to dress these jobs keep marching on. And frankly it blows my mind. Can you tell???

Do you need to whinge about something? Please use the comment section to jump in.