Domestic, um, Harmony?
Written 15th July 2007
The Boy and I have been a picture of domestic bliss today. We got up early and had coffee and croissants outside in the sunshine, then while I washed the dishes he went to Homebase to buy a edge trimmer. When he came back he mowed the lawn, while I did some weeding and raked up the leaves from the tree in our garden that thinks autumn lasts from October to August.
Then I did some housework while the Boy watched the golf. All very nice and civilised.
However, underneath this veneer of happy industriousness, runs an undercurrent of brooding menace. because at various points throughout the day I have been sorely tempted to use the Boy's new toy
to surgically remove both his hands. I figure he would be tidier that way. I mean, if he was limited to only picking things up with his teeth, he couldn't leave ALL HIS WORDLY POSSESSIONS on the kitchen table. I wouldn't say I was houseproud but I like things to be in their place and I get a warm fuzzy glow from a clean, tidy surface, free from clutter.
Examples of things that have irritated me today:
- I cleaned and tidied the kitchen (which is where all the clutter in our house seems to end up eventually) from top to bottom. The Boy comes in from the garden to unpack his strimmer. There are various plastic bags, some pieces of string, an instruction manual, some polystyrene, and a big cardboard box. He puts all this stuff onto the freshly cleaned kitchen table. AND LEAVES IT THERE. All day. I have to nag him to tidy it away, which he finally does about five hours after putting it there.
- After finishing the kitchen, I go outside to start my weeding, and trip over the strimmer cable (narrowly avoiding breaking my nose in the process), which has been left strewn over the back step while the Boy has a fag break.
- I find three fag ends while weeding. House Rule Number 3 states that all cigarette butts should be disposed of in a BIN.
- I cleaned the kitchen worktops for the second time, and 10 minutes later the Boy spilled his coffee on them, and didn't clean it up.
- I dusted the coffee table only to come in five minutes later to find a certain Boy with his BARE FEET (ew) up on said table, and a half-eaten chocolate digestive biscuit balanced on the edge, liberally dispensing crumbs.*
- I moved a whole pile of random crap from the hall table, and put it all away neatly. Random crap now sitting on the hall table: a wallet, a small pile of 2 pences, a pair of sunglasses, a lighter and an ipod cable.
- After vacuuming and mopping the floors, I catch the Boy tramping through the house with his grass-covered shoes on, leaving a trail of grass cuttings from the back door to the front.
I sometimes wonder if he does it deliberately. I constantly find things that need put away or tidied up, and I do it without even thinking. But the Boy? He doesn't seem to notice that he can only sit at one end of the sofa because there's a pile of stuff at the other end. He can ignore a dust bunny for days. Weeks even. He somehow managed to get chilli sauce all over one of the kitchen cupboards last night, and he didn't notice (I mean it was all over the door, at head height. HOW?). I cleaned it off this morning, and I said to him 'how on earth did you manage to get chilli on the cupboard', and he said 'oh, did I?'
*Who stops eating a chocolate digestive halfway through anyway? It's not like you need a break before you can face another two mouthfuls of deliciousness.
Labels: Garden, How Annoying, Hubby, tales from the draft folder