February has already been a very busy month, and it is only the 8th day of the month. School books have been covered (an incredibly time consuming but thoroughly rewarding task), mountains of school forms duly completed and returned, extracurricular activities resumed, and my new work timetable has commenced. I have increased my working week to three days and arranged a childcare placement for Josie for each of those days.
I spent my first ‘day off’ this week furiously cleaning the house and removing the school holiday residue from all and sundry. It was also supposed to be an opportunity to spend some one-on-one time with Josie as well, now that her big sisters were out of the house. However, between cleaning, washing, and cooking dinner, there simply wasn’t time. The fact that Josie slept for over two hours also made it difficult to spend quality time together, not that I am complaining! The most time we spent ‘together’, was when I changed her soiled nappy – three times before lunch! Punishment for the preceding full day in childcare? Or a sign that she is very relaxed in my company? I chose to believe the latter.
The day flew by in the blink of an eye, and despite achieving a great deal on the domestic frontier, I did not come close to doing all that needed to be done. Our house is wall-to-wall hard floors, and the job of vacuuming and mopping takes no less than two hours. By the time I have picked up all the debris, making it possible to clean the floor, I am often too exhausted and out of time. But this particular Tuesday, I was on fire. The washing was done, but not ironed. The floors were clean, clothes were off the floor and mostly put away. Dinner was cooked, dishes were done. Even the car was serviced and driven through the car wash. It was a cathartic and comprehensive clean all round.
After such a productive day, I was shocked by the rate at which my hard work was undone. The two foot tall terrorist had invaded and with the assistance of her army of sisters, the house was a wreck by the following afternoon. It happened to be the day that I had arranged for a cleaner to come and see the house, in the hope of having her agree to become my weekly cleaner. I haven’t had a regular cleaner for over four years and I wanted to make a good impression. I wanted to convey that her assistance was desperately required, while also appearing to maintain some degree of control over the household. I wanted her to feel that I was entrusting part of my duties to her, but that I was not doing so lightly.
My prospective partner in domestic cleanliness arrived promptly at 3.30pm. She walked with me from room to room, muttering in a thick Croatian accent to herself upon entering each one. Hard as I tried, I could not ascertain whether these sounds were of approval or horror. This time, I chose to believe the former. As we made our way into the playroom, I explained that I have four young children and that it was near impossible to keep the place tidy. I was relieved when she replied ‘well, that’s kids – you can’t.’
Each room we entered was messier than the one before. I saw my house through someone else’s eyes and the task of cleaning seemed daunting, to say the least. Particularly as this woman is no taller than five feet, whereas I stand 5 ‘10 inches tall, in a house with 14 foot ceilings. The pile of washing in the back room seemed larger than she was! The poor woman seemed dwarfed by the experience in more ways than one and I felt she was undecided about whether she was prepared to accept this job. I promised to tidy before each clean, and said things to effect of ‘the place is normally much tidier than this’ (not true, but I hoped against reason that saying it would somehow make it so).
We agreed she would start next week, with her fees to be negotiated in due course. It doesn’t help me that this woman has been exclusively cleaning for one of the town’s wealthiest families until now, in a beautiful home with no children and minimal mess. At least in my house, she will earn every dollar – the old fashioned way. I too, will work my way through the day, hoping my hard earned dollars will cover the increase in childcare fees and the delegation of my domestic duties, or at least provide me with some respite from the relentless home front. In this regard, I hope to achieve both!
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