Okay, did you guys fucking read that?? The woman keeps her house immaculate, while caring for a two-year old, and working from home!!!! I, on the other hand,am currently looking at empty Fruit Gushers packages and empty cigarette packages, haphazardly strewn about the desk. Laundry sits to my left in a massive pile, taunting me mercilessly. The one load of laundry that managed to get into the washing machine has now been sitting there for a total of two days. By the time I get to it, it’s going to need rewashing. My sink is full of dishes, and so is my dishwasher. I can’t turn around in this house without finding a mess…the only possible exception being the kitty litter, which I only clean daily because of the stink.
Heather, however, gracefully balances her laundry on her hip and her child on the other hip, and cheerfully throws the laundry in while her husband merrily scrubs the toilet upstairs. This, my friends, is what sets Heather Armstrong and I apart. She is able to keep her house spotless, while mine looks like the house Mr. Clean forgot. I try to clean, I really do…but something always seems to stop me. Usually, it’s the need for a cigarette. When I take a cigarette break, I sit down by the computer…and once I’ve done that, all is lost.
Heather can wash dishes while balancing Leta on her left toe. I get stuck in the hallway because the cat won’t stop grabbing my legs and crutches. Heather and John cook fabulous meals for supper, and will make more than one meal for their fussy little eater. I make one meal, it’s entitled “Kraft Dinner”; (which you can’t say isn’t a supper food because it has “dinner” in the damn title…so there!!) if my little one doesn’t want to eat it, she’s welcome to eat the bits of Lucky Charms on the floor instead. Occasionally, when I’m feeling really outrageous, I’ll make hotdogs. I don’t like to do that too terribly often though, it breeds false hope.
Heather Armstrong probably crawls into a nicely made bed with her hubby at night, and tucks in under the clean, crisp sheets. Last night, I found two Fruit Gushers and a cigarette butt in my bed. I am sorry to have to admit to you all that I consumed the Fruit Gushers, regardless of their close proximity to the cigarette butt…and my own.
Now don’t get me wrong, I adore Dooce, and Heather Armstrong is the undisputed Blogging Goddess; it’s the work ethic and organization that kills me. I am the world’s best procrastinator, and I avoid all things resembling chores with a cunning that rivals Ivana Trump. Secretly I admire and envy the organized people in this world. People that rise from their beds saying “It’s 7:00am, time to work out, have a shower, get the kids to school, and get to my yoga class before work.” I want to be them, and yet because of my disability, I make excuses not to be. Though it’s more difficult, it is possible to vacuum with crutches, providing I’m not having a bad pain day. My room could actually exist in a state of bright white cleanliness, a place where the walls are not yellowed by layers of nicotine, and the computer screen is free of cat hair and dust. These things are completely possible for me to achieve, disability or no disability.
As sad as it may be, I think I may just have to admit to myself that I was somewhat inspired by Heather’s sparkling domain. This, unfortunately, calls me to pick up a broom and mop, along with other cleaning type products and tools. Amazing as it is, I think it’s time for me to break down, pretend to grow up, and remove the mushrooms from my closet.