I Hate Housework

I hate, hate, hate doing housework. I hate cleaning after them, I can never keep up with the trail of mess left by them. It is like picking up dog poops... except that I have to pick up not one, not two, not three, but four, and sometimes even five dog poops. And these are dogs perpetually experiencing diarrhea, so imagine my sanity, or rather, insanity.

This is the reason why I refrain from entering their bedroom. The unsightly mess is annoyingly unwelcoming. To them, they are rather happy with the condition, not too messy, but acceptable. *Faint*!

Housework cannot begin when there are so many things lying around. They love leaving their things around. Toys. Books. Stationeries. Clothes. Sweet wrappers. Small pieces of papers. Cards. The best part of this is, they are perfectly aware that their things are lying around, and where. Because when I ask where they put their "things", they can tell me where they are lying, with amazing precision.

If they are not asked to tidy up, the things will be lying there:

(1) until I go crazy, screaming like a mad woman;

(2) unless they have an incentive, e.g. have a bar of chocolate or play Wii;

(3) until I start doing their job for them;

(4) until even they themselves cannot stand their mess any longer, and so start tidying up on their own initiative; or

(5) unless they, all of a sudden, get the mood to clean up.

So far, (4) hasn't occurred, ever. (5) rarely happens. (2) happens when I give in to bribing them. (1) used to happen umpteen times until I decided to stop shortening my lifespan so much. So we are left with (3), accepting my fate, my destiny, keeping up to the reputation of a (grumpy) housewife.

The cushions of the armchairs are always taken apart, the beds never made up, Lego pieces everywhere, dirty clothes here and there. It is chaos! I cannot decide which makes me madder - the thought of tidying up for them, or getting them to do their job.

They prefer to be nagged to death to having to tidy up. They prefer to just walk over or across them to putting them back to where they belong, even when it poses as a hazard for everyone else, including themselves in the house. I think it is because they find leaving them around being more convenient and accessible when they need them. But this is just plain lame. If I haven't been going around fishing out their underwear, for instance, from under the bed, behind the bed, behind the door of their bathroom, under their pillows, they would be running short of them in less than a week. Even when I keep warning them they will soon be out of jeans, for example, to wear, they would still take it so easy. They could simply put on their stinky pair back. This is driving me nuts - I don't want to bring their soiled clothes to the laundry basket, nor do I want them to walk around in rotten clothes! Arghhh!

I don't want to bring myself upstairs to their bedroom to save me from hitting the roof when I see their mess. I often stay away from their room over the weekend, first allowing them to fully exercise their creativity in their haven, second because more and more, I don't see the point in talking repeatedly to deaf ears, and lastly, I will have to face their room anyway when they go to school, the only time I can tell myself to calm down my nerves and be successful. At least, I am left alone to pick up the s***. Picking the s*** up peacefully. If I am lucky, the room will remain tidy till the next day. Not more. If not, the state will be reversed a couple of hours after they return from school. God bless me.

This is their definition of "I am done with my part." An all-time favourite phase to my question, "Are you done with cleaning up?" Just dump everything on the bed and I am done!

They being like this has resulted in me hating doing my housework more. I hate it so much I am not shy to admit I procrastinate doing it. I vacuum the floor two to three times a week, but I mop the floor only once every 3 months, when in fact, I should be doing so once a week. I should be washing the toilets at least once a week, but I sometimes wash them once a fortnight. With so many in the family, folding clothes is a daily must. But once in a while I pile them up, only folding when the pile reaches a 3-day high. I don't mind washing the bedsheets, quilt covers, pillow cases, problem is, I hate removing them, for removing them means I have to put fresh ones on. Sleeping on fresh sheets isn't a strong enough motivator to drive me to change them weekly. Besides, we hardly get stinky with perspiration here. I don't enjoy cleaning the kitchen. I dislike clearing the table after meals. I sulk when I have to load and unload the dishwasher. This is not what I am meant to be!!!

I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I totally detest it. I detest the fact that even when I hate it, I still have to do it. Any procrastination comes with an expiry date. That is why I am so indescribably out of energy. So lifeless. As good as living my life without a soul.

I am the reluctant housewife.