My foray into humor yesterday left me wondering, why IS my house such a wreck? Yes, I’ve always had issues with being tidy, but the underlying house was always clean and it really only took a short time to tidy up, once I got around to it. But for the past 15 years, I’ve had increasing issues with finding that round tuit and things get dirtier and pile up. I’ve tried FlyLady (I think the crappy fuchsia and purple layout keep me at odds, I’m not sure), I’ve tried treating my ADHD, I’ve laid out plans, lists, and routines, given stuff away, thrown stuff away, and stored things until I could deal with them…but it just gets worse.
For the last eight years, I’ve given myself a break because I was diagnosed with ADHD at 49. Then I determined I cannot form a habit, even a bad one. Fly Lady says it’s perfectionism, and I agree to some extent on that—I find myself looking at something and thinking, oh, I could pick up that little bit, but rationalizing, “I can’t do it all right now, so that won’t really do any good.” I’ve called myself every ugly name in the book: fat, lazy, worthless, stupid, inept…
But this week, a couple of things happened that made me re-evaluate the situation. First, my daughter’s best friend since high school came in town for their 20th reunion. I adore (I’ll call her Annie) and always want to see her when she comes in town, so I met the two of them at a local Austin café, Thunderbird Coffee in Brentwood. We spent a lot of time talking about parents, and Annie’s mom, who was my best friend for years, but we’ve drifted apart since she moved away. I can’t divulge what was talked about, but suffice it to say that things weren’t always rosy between Annie and her mom. I stopped and asked them something like what was the biggest life lesson you learned—one way or the other—from your mother. Annie talked for a bit. My daughter kind of clammed up, so I was thinking okay, she probably doesn’t want to hurt my feelings. So, being the kind who sticks the needle in the wound to see if it still hurts, I asked…and you?
What she said made me deliriously happy. She said the main thing I taught her was that you get up and get what needs to be done, done. Regardless of what else is going on, some things have to happen, and I always did that. I thanked her later; if the best—or worst—thing that could be said about my parenting is that? Then I did just fine.
The other thing that happened was that my husband went on a business trip for the week. I dropped him off at work on Monday at 7:25 in the morning and won’t see him until tomorrow afternoon. And, while I cannot say that I was a tornado of cleaning efficiency, or even that I got that much done, I can say I did some things I was dreading and I got up on time, kept a regular schedule with the animals and felt like I could physically handle things that I would normally defer to him. For instance, it took me about 10 minutes to move several of the roughnecks full of stuff off the patio, sweep it, and hose it off, then I loaded the roughnecks in the van and later took them to the storage unit (yeah, I have one of those again). I had been waiting for a good time to ask him to carry them. Guess what? I can do it myself. Yes, my hips and upper back are bitching at me today, but I don’t really care.
I told my daughter that I think I have CDCS (Co-Dependent Cinderella Syndrome). Subconsciously I keep expecting someone to rescue me. Insert confused dog head-tilt here. No, I don’t expect him to clean up my crap, but I do sit around and wait for him to do things or ask him to do shit that I could very well get up and do myself (feeding the dogs, for instance, which means they get fed “whenever” instead of on the schedule that I set). My crap gets piled higher and deeper, but he doesn’t ever say anything about it. I also get resentful when other than taking out the trash and occasionally mowing the lawn, he won’t initiate doing anything without being prompted, but that’s a whole other issue….or is it? Is my resentment boiling over into what used to be an “I can do anything” attitude? Some things, I cannot do any longer. I simply do not have the strength that I used to have, but, as with the roughnecks, I obviously can do some things. And those things take a lot less time than I thought, and certainly less time than waiting for Prince Cleanemup to come to my aid.
The funniest part about this is that I’ve actually imagined what it would be like if Niecy Whatsername from Clean House showed up.
Knock knock knock (they are knocking because I took the plate loose on the doorbell in 1995 to paint and have never screwed it back in—even though I’ve actually bought a new one—so people don’t know if it works, will electrocute them, or connect them to the Whitehouse)
I open the door and give them the haven’t you read the fucking “No soliciting” sign? glare.
“HIIIII! I’m Niecy Whatsername from Style Television’s Clean House!”
Deadpan. “And?”
Flummoxed look. “Well we’re here to save your bacon!”
“I have no bacon that needs saving. I’m a vegetarian.”
“Oh, well..that was just a figure of speech. Have you heard of our show?”
“Yes. And a) I don’t have enough stuff to sell for 2-, 3-, 4, 000 bucks…heck I don’t even have enough to fix the drain for the bathtub and replace the tub and surround, which all needs to be done before I can even think about flooring in the greatroom, and that’s another 1200 to 2000…unless you’re giving money away?”
“Um, no. But you neeed us…”
“…who sent you? I want to take a contract out on them.”
Slight look of panic. “Well, we..uh…can’t we just come in and take a look around?”
“No. I don’t want you telling me what to do with my things. I’m not going to negotiate to keep my Golden Retriever furball collection.”
Blank stare.
“I kid. But seriously, who sent you?”
The entire crew breaks for cover as Niecy shouts over her shoulder, “Martha Stewart!!!”
