Today I made an angry cake. Yeah. You heard right. You know angry sex, right? Well, angry cake is what you make when you’re in a strop with yourself.
I’m just antsy. I’ve pulled a nerve or muscle around my shoulder blade area and it’s making me grumpy. It’s making day to day things like stirring a huge pot of bubbling fudge mixture tricky. Motor functions like turning my wrist hurts. Slaveboy is convinced that it is stress related but nonetheless, it doesn’t stop me from being so pissed off with myself.
In my head, there is this rather long to do list and everyday the list grows longer and longer. So I have personal achievements stuff like wanting to be able to bench press 100kg. Well, that’s not going to happen very soon when I can’t even pick up an pan and pour the content out without wincing. Then that terribly Stepford Wife/middle class-esque woes because in the past 72hrs I’ve done 16 loads of 8kg dirty laundry. I have washed clothes which I have not seen on my children’s backs this year. I’d like to think I’m a reasonably intelligent person but there is this huge part of me that seriously think inner peace would be achieved through having an orderly house.
It pisses me off that it pisses me off and ruins my day if the house is in a tip. I don’t mean strewn toys but more like the pair of dirty socks that get kicked about from room to room. Or the massive vacuum cleaner that has been strategically placed right in from of my baking shelf. Or the pile of used cotton buds that appear mysteriously BEHIND the bin on the bathroom. Or the 3 knives left on the butter dish.
I remember my mum getting worked up about stuff like this and I remember me blanking it all and I suspect, my children do the same to a certain degree. However, I think I know exactly what is it about all this that frustrates me. When I signed up for motherhood (in that student accommodation’s toilet with the pregnancy test stick blinking positive at me), it never crossed my mind that the very thing that would make me doubt if I had made the right decision would be the mess children make and the constant nagging I would be doing about tidying up.
Because when I signed up for motherhood, I hadn’t planned that I would be spending my days nagging. Or pointing out to my children that I don’t intend to be the walking, talking chore list that prompts people when their chores are overdue. I never intended to turn into that person.
And of course you could say that all this is a choice that I have made. I could choose to not allow these things to upset me. I could just let all these petty things wash over me and just concentrate on the things I’ve always associated motherhood with. Long outings with the children. Endless hours at the dinner table making crafts and messy plays with the little ones.
Because the mess will still be there when I get back to it.
And that, is the crux of the matter.
The mess will still be there when I get back to it.
And it will slowly eat into my time with my children and gnaw away at my time for my own personal development and wear at the delicate weave which keeps our house functioning as a home for everyone.
And this is why a disorderly home gets to me, despite how banal and petty it may seem. I don’t intend to spend two hours looking for something when it would have been just five minutes spent had some organisation been put in place. That’s two hours that I have spent not on my children.
And that is my rant. It may sound ridiculous but when my house is disorganised, I don’t find it cosy, or quirky or eccentric. It’s just dysfunctional and apathetic, and more often that not, it’s a reflection of the type of energy that we are feeding off as a family.
So after I made my angry cake, I took a stomp out in town to purchase a Secret Santa gift for our Clandestine Cake Club Christmas meal and came home and posted a status update about it.
It made me feel better. Just like writing this post has done. And I suspect I’ll now happily go away and do the next load of laundry without feeling that the word Mother in the hearts of my children doesn’t really translate into live-in cleaner.