Cleaning Sucks

I have two kids, an extremely messy husband and pets...and oh yeah a physical disability. Sweeping, mopping, vacuuming cause back pain and hip dislocation. Bath tub scrubbing makes my knees swell. Dish washing hurts my ankles. You get the idea. Don't worry this is not a complain/vent. It's another post in which I attempt to cut myself some slack. Before kids I did all the necessary cleaning and then I was "done for the day". Now, I recover from cleaning the way I recover from illness...I don't.

That is a REAL picture of the actual sink/counter/kitchen full of dirty dishes I woke up to on my 28th birthday (aka first birthday after I had Riley). I'll leave the condition of the rest of house to your imagination. Yes, I woke up on that post-partum birthday and wept at the massive mess. Then I whipped out my camera and documented it like an insane person. I think I wanted proof of what I'd done all day on my birthday while tending to a 7yr old and 5mo old. Truth is I can never be sure with all the hormones and sleep deprivation why I took 20+ pictures of my trashed house. As I started trying to deal with the situation I got mad, I mean really! Today?!? So, I decided I needed professional help (Yes, probably that kind too). I called a cleaning service. It would be Mike's birthday present to me, I'd inform him of his generous birthday gift later.

That was the first time I asked for help, but not the last. Like most moms keeping the house clean is a constant source of stress. Soon after that birthday I had a major back surgery and I started paying my friend to come once a week and help me. I was essentially stationary on the couch. A stack of diapers and a drink beside me, a baby gate encircling a patch of living room floor, and Riley climbing on and off my lap. I got up to use the bathroom and make our lunch. It was some rough times. $20 for someone to come run the vacuum and clean my bathrooms was well worth it. As time passed and different surgeries and recoveries happened the person helping, rates and tasks I needed them for changed, but I had weekly help whenever we could swing it.

Since our move it went from weekly to once a month. For awhile now I've been going it completely alone sending up the bat signal on special occasions. Before you get all "cry me a river" you have to clean your own house all the time. I live with an amazing slob (I love him and he's great at many things, but being aware of the wreckage of his presence is not one of them), a fused spine, two kids, pets and unpredictable physicality. I do my best, I ask the kids for help and I try to remember how much better things are now than in the old days. I feel like I'm pretty on the ball, but I'm not a miracle worker and I can only do so much. Recently I stumbled on this post: What Normal Looks Like. Some of it was accurate, some of it didn't apply, but the spirit of it gave me a moment of relief. I forgot that it's not just me struggling.

I hate it when the house gets out of control, it is literally hard for me to get around in it. I am doing my best at any given moment to keep things pleasant and functional. Note: I did not say "to impress people." I just want to be comfortable and relaxed in my house. If my physical abilities ever caught up with my expectations of myself this place would be immaculate! Short of the nano technology my husband swears will be the end of all my orthopedic issues someday I don't really see that happening.

Imagine if cleaning didn't just exhaust and frustrate you, but actually caused you physical pain. Are you sympathizing? Good! Now with that in mind, call before you drop by so I have time to tidy up.

A Little Honest Emotion on the Subject

Please, don't be angry at me for not asking for help. It's not in my nature. I fear giving power to the pain and hopelessness by naming it. Please listen when I come to you calmly asking for a hand. That is my desperate plea. You will not see me crack until the damn breaks. It is the only time I allow that awful "weakness" its sway. I can only breath in and out and put one foot in front of the other this way.

When the bus hit me I got one single get well card and last year, when I was the most helpless I have ever been and trying to take care of a baby...It was horrible and lonely. It was an almost stranger who came most often. I saw people once or twice until I was well enough to leave. Most of my relationships remain distant. Did I ask for help? I remember it, but maybe none of them understood the horror I was desperately navigating mostly alone.

I wish I knew where I go wrong. When to stop calmly asking and start tearfully begging. I am so tired, still, always. I don't know how to fix what I so clearly had a part in breaking. I won't allow myself to EVER be as lost and alone as I was after that horrible surgery. Trapped in the house on the couch with a baby crawling around my feet for months. I wanted to "bounce back". I had no frame of reference. I had so little.

Maybe shortly after the halfway point is a good time for catharsis of all the toxic emotions I refused to accept. I still hate all the anger, frustration, fear and guilt so much. I hate that I did that to myself on purpose, to my family.

I hate the recovery process, surgical solutions, sleep deprivation, depression, severe weight loss and the pain. The pain that motivated me to make that choice. The pain that was a result of that choice. The daily pain I don't speak of in hopes that one day it won't be there.

I wish I could have gone into that spinal fusion with knowledge I now possess. I wish I could go back and not get hit by the bus. My time machine would be well worn and I'd probably blink myself out of existence.

Are We Done Yet?

I keep swinging between elation and an anxiety so severe it renders me dysfunctional. I keep thinking the deus ex machina moment is coming. As of yet, it has not. I have moved some where in the neighborhood of 10 times, but this has been by far the most difficult.

As I mentioned I have been waiting for help to come save the day, (atypical of my personality since birth). Let me explain the factors at play here. First, regardless of my moving experience and above average organizational skills I am limited physically in ways that I've never dealt with before. Second, I am moving a family of four instead of just myself. Third, I have a toddler underfoot or "helping" at every turn. Fourth, Mike.

Mike has limited moving experience, no organizational abilities to speak of and a completely different set of priorities. I feel like I'm swimming against the tide a lot. Thank God he can run cable, anchor shelves and fix things that require the use of a nail gun. I really would be lost without his talents. The trouble is when I tell him the 3 things I need him to do before I can proceed with getting us settled and instead he does something that wasn't even on my radar like mount speakers. I think it's a Mars/Venus thing.

The kids haven't been all obstacle either they've pitched in here and there. Isaac "packed" his bookshelf (which I had to repack while he was school). Overall his attitude has been much better than expected. He was helping untangle the cords on the entertainment center today and he became very concerned. "Are you SURE we're supposed to take this?", he asked me. It turned out Isaac thought that t.v.s come standard in every house. Eight year olds. I straightened him out by pointing out that there was nothing in the new house when he saw it the first time (not even a t.v.) and we would leave nothing in this one. Riley decided to be helpful today too. She told us she was wet and instead of waiting to be changed went to the diaper bag got a new pull up and had it halfway on by herself. I think when they can change their own diaper it's time for the potty.

I've done my best to keep kids on their normal routines, but it's hard. I had all these sunny visions of long afternoons spent letting Riley run through the empty house while I unpacked boxes in peace (while the boys were at work and school). The problem was there was no furniture to unpack things into. So, instead I spent long days in the wreck of the old house packing boxes and waiting. Waiting for help to load the car, waiting for shelves to be disassembled/reassembled, waiting for Mike to get off work, waiting for a time when I'd be free of both kids and so on.

We've done our best to this point largely by ourselves. I feel like I'm drowning. Tomorrow we'll have the U-haul for the big furniture and I don't feel like we're as far along as we should be. I thought we had lots of help and it's turning out that we don't. I tried to line everything up ahead of time, but I never knew how much we'd have done at any point. We're down to the wire now and I'm pleading on facebook and text message for help tomorrow, fingers crossed.

I need a hero, I'm holding out for a hero 'til the end of this move. He's gotta be strong. And he's gotta be fast. And he's gotta be fresh from the fight. (I totally hear it sung from the fairy godmother in Shrek 2, but feel free to hear Bonnie Tyler).