So I have so many things that I want to write about and share with you. So many micro epiphanies, so many stories. But I’m lazy and I get busy and I get impostor syndrome. You know the drill. So then I endlessly just find rubbish to do on my phone instead. I’m addicted. What can I say. It’s bad. I know. But anyway, something really just fucked me off this morning and it propelled me to get off my lazy arse and write. This morning, Chump and I had a massive argument. Like a bad one. Over washing dishes. You see I hate seeing even one measly piece of cutlery in the sink to be washed. So when I see a sink full of dishes, I actually panic and lose my shit. Normally I wash as I go along. It just keeps me sane. But since all those lockdowns when Chump was home, he started washing up. And I got used to it. It worked nicely. I would do the cooking and he would do the washing up. But then he went back to the office full time. Poor guy. I do feel sorry for him. He doesn’t have the option to work from home. So out he goes to work at the crack of dawn and leaves all the domestic shit to me. Which pre-Covid was ok. That’s how it worked. But now, it feels like a massive slap in the face. Like I lost a legitimate expectation of having help. Now I do all the childcare again and all the domestic stuff. And I still work. And I’m not blaming Chump. As I’ve said before, he’s as much a victim of this sexist, patriarchal society as I am. But it makes me so angry. So now, once I finish writing this post, I’m going to go and wash dishes. But it’s the weekend you say. Why can’t Chump do it? Because it’s the weekend and we have kids. And these kids have these super busy social lives and need chauffering around. Weekends are not relaxing around here. We wake up at the crack of dawn still and hustle to get the kids ready for their weekend activities. We make lunches, we do laundry, we drive them around. We have play dates. We do homework. We run errands. It’s madness. I now hate weekends. I used to love them because it was actually a legitimate break from life. Now weekends are just an insane extension of the week. And in fact they are worse, because your day doesn’t end at 5pm or whatever time you stop work. It just goes on and on. It’s not like your kids want to sleep on the weekends. No it’s a weekend! They want to watch movies on the sofa. And they want you to bring them endless snacks after you’ve done all that running around. Because you are their servant. And you still have to do laundry. But this time more, because now you have to wash their swimming costumes and their muddy shoes and all that other paraphernalia associated with their weekend activities. And my god it’s exhausting. And it makes me cranky. And it makes me want to pick fights with the one person I love more than anything in the world. Because he’s there. And he’s doing this nonsense with me. And I love him for it. And I hate him for it. Because I’m complicated. And all I want to do is watch Saturday Kitchen and have a cup of coffee with him instead of having a hurried breakfast of the kids’ leftover chocolate cereal and cold coffee and then watching him leave me for the rest of the day while I wash dishes, load the dishwasher, do the 15 loads of laundry and then go out and run all the household errands. Have I said it before? Parenting is a drag. Ok bye, the dishes beckon.
