It's pretty clear that I'm a mom by the food on my shirts and the way I say things like, "I've got to tinkle," in front of normal grown up people. It's also pretty clear that I'm a professional by the way I look completely exhausted, am perceived as a bitch if I'm not sugar-pink happy pants and by the way I say things like, "let's not pull that lizards legs off because it is an autonomous living being," to small children at the age of two. Of course there is my other role of wife. I'm not sure what makes it clear that I'm a wife other than my suburb living and the ring on my finger and, you know, that guy who is always hanging around. That's three hats. big ones. I am not even gonna break down all the little hats. Moreover I absolutely KNOW that I am one of about a zillion ladies who has those three big hats and a zillion little ones. There is this other big hat too. I feel like I could drown in it sometimes. And I hate it. I have tried to donate it, sell it, throw it away, make a trade and hide it under the bed and even cut it in half and share it with my husband. I did not buy this hat or approve when it insinuated itself into my life with it's tacky, outdated ways. and yet. The housewife hat always finds it's way onto my head.I am currently typing, staring at 7 baskets of laundry in various states of folding, all sorted according to human, dog or other. This is never-ending. On the floor is a partially re-boxed board game, and three blankets which I have folded approximately 8 zillion times in the last two days. They are currently in a heap because my child thinks all blankets should be picnic blankets. I know a dishwasher full of clean dishes and a sink full of dirty dishes awaits me in the kitchen. and there is a coffee table littered with bills, remotes, random parts of toys, and half crayons spreading out in front of my eyes. This is the detritus of my daily life and it's a bit of an albatross. I BEG for help with these things. For some unfathomable reason, my darling husband, whom I do not want to kill, even when he states that my cleaning methods are the problem, (whilst he plays a video game after watching two movies-hey, he did put food into a crockpot today so, done!) doesn't understand why this mess brings me intense daily anxiety and why I cannot clean it his way. (His way is not doing laundry on a daily basis and folding an entire basket and putting it away before starting another.) My brother says that coming into my home stresses him out and that I don;t make enough time to clean. I berate myself for not doing it all. but really--HOW!? How can I do all of this? I have thought many times, and attempted a few, "If I just don't sleep tonight I can get it finished. It'll be fun, like a college all nighter." I always backslide though. I have this idea in my head that only lazy and unclean people live in this kind of mess. So now I identify myself as lazy and unclean. I hate this hat. What I worry about more than anything else is how this affects my kids though. Are they going to share this anxiety, become irresponsible (as I see myself)? Or will they adopt this maniacal idea of perfection and expect the unachievable and unreasonable of themselves if I somehow destroy what little sleep and energy I have left to get it done? I have no idea. But I guess that I am going to go and put away that stupid single basket of laundry so that I can clean the "right" way.
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