My house is like an Irish Wolfhound

Being responsible for my house is a bit like looking after a huge dog.  You take an Irish Wolfhound out for a walk and, as long as you are paying attention, everything is fine and the dog is under control.  But as soon as you get even slightly distracted, the dog is away, pulling on the lead, galloping joyfully to chase that rabbit it’s just seen (yes, yes, it’s a carrier bag caught in some brambles.  The dog knows this really.  But it is *pretending* it’s a rabbit, anticipating the chase, oh yes, it’ll show that bunny who’s fastest), dragging you along behind it.

As long as I keep up with my housework, keep everything tidy, do my cleaning each weekend, I am just about ok.  But it takes one thing – a cold, some building work, a run of bad nights’ sleep, Ex-Husband breaking his leg and the children being here constantly for a few weeks – and the mess takes over: unopened letters; washing waiting to be sorted; detritus washing up around the edges of rooms like seaweed on a beach; the kitchen table buried; toys everywhere.

Yes, those toys.  Where *do* they come from? My children, of course.  My children love to play with their toys.  They like to empty baskets of soft toys onto the floor.  They like to empty out two boxes of games into one pile and then move on.  They like to take books off shelves (my books, their books, any books they can find) and pretend it is luggage.  They like to cut pieces of paper up into ‘tickets’.  They like to spread snap cards across the floor.  They do not like to tidy up.  They are like cats, winding round your legs: playful and affectionate, but not entirely helpful.

And then there’s me.  I contribute more to the problem more than I resolve.  I am wildly untidy.  Those unopened letters are sitting around because I haven’t put them away.  I would rather read facebook than tidy.  I think I’ll do things tomorrow.  I get distracted half-way through doing a job.  I stay up until midnight and then complain that I’m too tired.  I don’t teach Big Girl and Small Girl to put things away when they’ve used them.

So: I’m trying to walk an Irish Wolfhound with two little black cats twining round my legs, checking Facebook rather than watching where I’m going.  It’s true that it’s hard to look after two small children, work, run a home and have an interesting life.  But this feels like a problem largely of my own making.  Just for now, I don’t have any solutions, although I do, finally, have a dishwasher.  There is a machine in my kitchen which makes dirty things clean so that I don’t have to.  That’s progress enough for this week.  Next week I’ll think about training the cats.

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