Sorting: It’s A Small World Except When You Have To Clean It
Apologies for being so aloof as of late. I’m 31 pregnant weeks ATM and insanity is obviously taking over. I am beset with a case of Extreme Nesting and have decided it is time to move home… me being heavily pregnant and all it is just such a convenient time to contemplate major upheaval don’t you think? So our house is up for sale and I am enjoying the wealth of opportunity and possibility that such radical change might create. The first time I was overwhelmed and nervous and now it is the ultimate retail therapy. But the preparation of creating our “display home” to lure others to our domestic vision and getting finance as self employed types who had yet to choose and accountant has been full on. (I am now doing a Bookkeeping course so I can get the business sorted.) The whole thing has just gotten completely out of control.
The rationale is threefold:
1. Kahlil will be starting school next year and now is the time for visiting schools and enrolling him and I can’t do that if I’m not sure where we will be. Better a late enrollment than putting him somewhere and having to uproot him.
2. We live in a house with a kitchen to die for but sadly it is a 3 bedroom house with one living space and will simply not last the course. It seemed cavernous when we moved in but now…
3. Escaping the ravages of clutter!
Some 1950’s domestic hormone has obviously flooded my system and I am in a frenzy of decluttering and liberating surfaces to their bare nakedness. The house prior to that point was most comfortably numb to the stuff that copulated and multiplied on my floors and available bench space and I suppose we were all distracted with other things to take drastic action what with unavailable cupboard space to solve the problem. I have literally combed through each cupboard and surface then sorted/discarded/repositioned/warehoused at B’s office. We are absolutely sorted!!! Really I see it as a sad indictment of our consumerist culture that we are drowning in things while 1 billion people globally starve on $1 a day and I’m sure if I threw out half the stuff, it would be forgotten. But then again I’m not about to deny my kids birthday parties even though they involve accumulation and the pleasure is a temporal illusion that I pay for by tidying up toys that end up in the shower recess or under the doona or some such logical location.
Then of course there are the sexual politics that come to the fore. Since I have morphed into Nancy housewife the anal bitch from hell the arguments have been brewing with an unsuspecting B. Iron chef he may be, bless his wok, but picking up and putting stuff away is not his forte… If men need to snag up they always choose the glamorous jobs don’t they? The thought of picking up after 5 people really crosses the line and how can I consider myself a feminist worth her salt if I don’t teach my sons to take responsibility for their mess. Indeed, over the past few months they are becoming increasingly conscious of the need to do this- especially when it is a requirement before going on the computer or playing with the “top shelf”, locked away toys like small Lego and knights! ;o) I have also created more of a toy room in Kahlil’s room where all the multi component toys now live and all the one piece, easy to put away stuff lives in the lounge. These strategies have hugely reduced my tidy up time. :o) Naturally, I’m expecting B to act as an exemplary role model…
Combined with the reality of running his own business, taking on new employees but still being in dire need of a programmer and working flat out to keep up (and the flurry of activist stuff with the Filipino community; their new local publication has received rave reviews globally. Gotta love the internet to give a local initiative such impetus) and he hasn’t been hugely available anyway. Meanwhile, my beached whale proportions assumed that I might receive a bit more princess treatment and I have been muchly put out. Thus, I have been reduced to a Germaine Greer stereotype of a desperate housewife. Why does a role that requires so much dedication and sacrifice end up being so trivialized and a conversation killer. How epic and irrelevant I feel. So mired am I in domesticity! I am only at the half way point in the nappy changing schedule!!! My God I need a room of one’s own (or preferably a round the world ticket - bugger another place to clean) but in fact I am falling deeper into my role and articulation of myself in comparison to the tomes of feminism that makes me seem so been there done that. The problem with SAHM’s is that we are too commonplace that the issues can seem invisible even to me.
My hormones have a lot to answer for. I was a total calm Nazi during my last two pregnancies but not this time. I’m just hoping we can at least sell before the baby comes… preferably buy something too. Cross your fingers for me!
The rationale is threefold:
1. Kahlil will be starting school next year and now is the time for visiting schools and enrolling him and I can’t do that if I’m not sure where we will be. Better a late enrollment than putting him somewhere and having to uproot him.
2. We live in a house with a kitchen to die for but sadly it is a 3 bedroom house with one living space and will simply not last the course. It seemed cavernous when we moved in but now…
3. Escaping the ravages of clutter!
Some 1950’s domestic hormone has obviously flooded my system and I am in a frenzy of decluttering and liberating surfaces to their bare nakedness. The house prior to that point was most comfortably numb to the stuff that copulated and multiplied on my floors and available bench space and I suppose we were all distracted with other things to take drastic action what with unavailable cupboard space to solve the problem. I have literally combed through each cupboard and surface then sorted/discarded/repositioned/warehoused at B’s office. We are absolutely sorted!!! Really I see it as a sad indictment of our consumerist culture that we are drowning in things while 1 billion people globally starve on $1 a day and I’m sure if I threw out half the stuff, it would be forgotten. But then again I’m not about to deny my kids birthday parties even though they involve accumulation and the pleasure is a temporal illusion that I pay for by tidying up toys that end up in the shower recess or under the doona or some such logical location.
Then of course there are the sexual politics that come to the fore. Since I have morphed into Nancy housewife the anal bitch from hell the arguments have been brewing with an unsuspecting B. Iron chef he may be, bless his wok, but picking up and putting stuff away is not his forte… If men need to snag up they always choose the glamorous jobs don’t they? The thought of picking up after 5 people really crosses the line and how can I consider myself a feminist worth her salt if I don’t teach my sons to take responsibility for their mess. Indeed, over the past few months they are becoming increasingly conscious of the need to do this- especially when it is a requirement before going on the computer or playing with the “top shelf”, locked away toys like small Lego and knights! ;o) I have also created more of a toy room in Kahlil’s room where all the multi component toys now live and all the one piece, easy to put away stuff lives in the lounge. These strategies have hugely reduced my tidy up time. :o) Naturally, I’m expecting B to act as an exemplary role model…
Combined with the reality of running his own business, taking on new employees but still being in dire need of a programmer and working flat out to keep up (and the flurry of activist stuff with the Filipino community; their new local publication has received rave reviews globally. Gotta love the internet to give a local initiative such impetus) and he hasn’t been hugely available anyway. Meanwhile, my beached whale proportions assumed that I might receive a bit more princess treatment and I have been muchly put out. Thus, I have been reduced to a Germaine Greer stereotype of a desperate housewife. Why does a role that requires so much dedication and sacrifice end up being so trivialized and a conversation killer. How epic and irrelevant I feel. So mired am I in domesticity! I am only at the half way point in the nappy changing schedule!!! My God I need a room of one’s own (or preferably a round the world ticket - bugger another place to clean) but in fact I am falling deeper into my role and articulation of myself in comparison to the tomes of feminism that makes me seem so been there done that. The problem with SAHM’s is that we are too commonplace that the issues can seem invisible even to me.
My hormones have a lot to answer for. I was a total calm Nazi during my last two pregnancies but not this time. I’m just hoping we can at least sell before the baby comes… preferably buy something too. Cross your fingers for me!