Am I Wasting My Life Tidying My House?
There is really only one answer to this, but let’s all play along.
I am, and I think I can say this objectively, a very tidy woman. While I may be more slovenly about the cleaning side of things (I have a cleaner who comes once every fortnight and he is an angel amongst men), I am fastidious about tidiness. My house is tidy when there are no guests coming, it’s tidy when I’m not taking pictures of it. In fact, ignoring the children’s bedrooms, it is close to immaculate about 90% of the time.
The reality of this is that I spend over an hour exclusively tidying every single day. Typically, I will tidy immediately after school drop off, starting with the dreaded laundry sweep, picking up uniforms and pants printed with construction vehicles, Hulk-sized hoodies and maybe a single pair of my own Pilates socks. The Dot Cotton cycle cannot falter as just a single day off of laundretting and disaster ensues. Last week my eldest went to school in shorts and shirtsleeves because I had a day in Paris for fashion week. As it was March in London, it didn’t exactly scream responsible parenting.
After the scour of fabric from floor, I’ll probably restack the dishwasher, clear and clean the table of breakfast debris (note, do not leave crushed milky Weetabix too long on any surface as it turns to actual glue), pick up 47 toys and put yesterday’s wash away. There might also be a small DIY job or a repair to fix and I find myself constantly ferrying shite to and from the shed. I’ll finish up with some sexy recycling and plump of the cushions. A couple of times a week there will be a hoover and bed linen change or fridge clean thrown into the mix. Then, and only then, do I feel ready to start work.
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