TWINS! 25 years apart. And well, not really twins as I'm his mother and he's my son...but you get the jist of it.
Lately I feel so defeated by my own personal challenges - and for crying out loud I am setting them for myself! I feel like the minute I start something, more has to be done. Take the house for example. We haven't unpacked and my energy runs in short bursts. Bryan never helps and when he does it's grudgingly followed suit by then giving up five minutes later.
I use every frazzled ounce of energy I can muster to scrub through weeks (or months) of dirt left on cookers, counter tops, sinks, the toilet, the bath and every other available space. Please can someone invent the machine that does all this for me?
We're polar opposites. Him the slob, me the reasonably clean one. Him the shrug the shoulders at everything in life, me the ambitious one. He who worries at silly things and me who worries at big things; weddings (ours), birth, deaths and everything in between. He who takes forever to get me things but does everything for himself in a wink of an eye.
He who see's everything as black and white, believes in capital punishment and strong prison sentences. Me who see's the gray areas, the in between the crack loop-holes of life and capital punishment? Outdated, barbaric and un-Christian. He who raises his voice and me who raises my opinion.
So onto the punchy bit of the story: B was sick a few weeks ago so I did this mass tidy up. When I say 'mass' I mean I ordered things around a little differently, cleaned a few dishes and even took out rubbish (why oh why does it even build up in the first place when it doesn't have too!) and he got better and within half an hour everything was chaos again.
The other day he also 'baby proofed' the living room. I was asleep at the time this happened because I was still recovering from the time he was sick - when he gets sick, I follow suit, but not because I contract whatever he has...my body can't cope with the sheer amount of energy that is required in looking after a toddler and a home full time. Yes, I'm aware many people do this parenting gig on their own and full time but I am also full time sick. And as such, that's my life and my set up. My body is like an elastic band - push it too far and it will break.
Back to this baby proofing deal. Now, usually I'm sure a lot of people would be over joyed their spouse had been so ingenious as to baby proof their home. In fact they'd probably be downright shocked and/or impressed.
Me? I'm a little startled by Bryan's methods.
Our problem is that Roman has a little problem with ownership - he thinks everything is his to destroy or throw to the floor to watch what happens to it. This really bugs me, even though I never let it show (first rule of parenting: don't show your kids your weak spots as they'll only exploit them at a later date.) So baby/toddler proofing was the next sensible and ultimately inevitable step...
For me I prepared by buying corner protectors and imaging things being in little neat boxes; tidy and organised, the opposite of my husband who works in a more haphazard fashion. I also have to tell you that this is the man who at 22 said we could "just keep the baby in the bath and throw a towel over them and then scoot them down when they pee or poo." This was his solution to not buying nappies - even though he is a disposable nappy advocate these days and I am very much a cloth advocate.
So imagine, if you will, what his baby proofing might consist of and try to picture this scene:
I come into the living room and the insides of the book shelf have disappeared. No books, no blooming shelves. Nothing. Our bookshelf has been gutted. Okay, let's move on...this might get better. I also notice that everything that was under the coffee table is no longer there. I begin to panic. What's he done with it all? I notice that a suit case is blocking the entrance to one side of our corner unit sofa - Roman loves to go behind there and cause mischief. I look behind the suitcase and what do I see?
The contents of the bookshelf and coffee table. All lumped into one pile, looks like it's just been thrown into a heap. On the other end of the corner unit is a punch bag blocking that entrance. Roman runs up to, huffing and puffing and proceeds to smash his tiny fists on it as though he's attacking someone.
Bryan, what have you been teaching him while I sleep?
The 'guts' of the bookshelf have never been returned, they just lie dormant in that same heap. I found the shelves in Bryan's cupboard of gym equipment and I am in no mood to ask when all of this will be reinstated. Along with this I have found a paddling pool by our back door, socks strewn everywhere (parents, please teach your children the value of balling up socks before it's too late!), one 'much loved' (read: very food stained) dish towel and nappies strewn all over the bathroom floor.
Do I have Obsessive Compulsive Disorder or am I completely justified to feel trapped under the mess? And why are people with OCD always related to cleanliness? It's not true!
