Slime, beyblades and all things messy!

Opening my eyes on a Saturday morning it is a joy to know that I don’t have to run around like a headless chook packing school lunches, looking for socks that match and shuffling the tribe (of 5) out the door.

I can relax. Listen to the birds chirp while I sip my morning cuppa. Breathe knowing there are 2 full days of ahead before the rat-race begins again.

But then there is the flip side.

It’s time to clean up the mess of the week. Running a business from home and 5 children around, there is rarely a chance to catch up on laundry, cleaning and all the other fun (sarcasm) house chores.

The issue isn’t the cleaning, the issue is the houseful of children following me around successfully undoing my hard work.

Not to mention the dramatic soap operas if I ask them to do anything useful.

Apparently, the creation of slime, a source of much of the mess I am dealing with, is more important. The rainbow splatterings coat the basin and beyond. Splashes of colour decorate the passage walls. Not to mention the bowls, containers and bags of strange concoctions that are left where ever she last had them. You can almost walk through the house and tell the story of exactly where she has been and what she has done.

Or testing out the latest beyblade to see if it has stamina or whatever else beyblades have. The latest craze of modernised spinning tops that all have their own individual names and strengths. Some are attackers and others defenders, so I have heard, but they are all spinning tops to me!

Then there are the teens. These strange creatures that one day morphed from a beautiful child into something that stares constantly at a digital screen and occasionally grunts when hungry. Getting them enthused about dishes, dusting or anything really, is like drawing blood from a stone.

So even without their help, there are actually some elements of housework that I enjoy and even benefit from. I once called my blog “At The Clothesline” because I would have so many insights and inspirations while pegging out the clothes. Sometimes I’d have to stop what I was doing to do a Facebook live while it was fresh in my mind, so mummy brain didn’t take over and I lose it. Perhaps the possibilities of thinking feely to the point of having light bulb moments was simply because I was doing a meaningless job and everyone had run a mile to save being asked to help, so it was simply a case of uninterrupted thought. If that’s the case, imagine what my imagination could do if I didn’t have children to interput?

It’s not that I hate housework, in fact when I get in the groove it can be quite therapeutic. The issue is how quickly it looks like I did nothing. If I could just hit the pause button and admire the fruits of my labour for a short while, perhaps I wouldn’t have such a love/hate relationship with the week end chores.