The pooped homemaker .


I have written all kinds of housewife books on being frugal and making life easier, taking the work out of housework and creating good lives on tiny budgets.  I am great at pinching pennies, getting the cleaning done in under an hour, organizing chaos, and getting reinspired again and again and again.  Until recently.

I have filled my plate and then added an extra serving or two.  Yesterday I found myself standing in the middle of the living room yelling, “I can’t take this anymore!” and storming out.  I didn’t go very far and my recovery from insanity was fairly quick.  I wound up just storming out to the mailbox and then returning with junk mail in hand.  I then spent the evening looking defeated in the back seat as we drove around looking at homes I had listed in my spiral notebook for “possibles”.

I’ve taken on too much stress, albeit self-created with my nervous mind, and I haven’t had a break in five years.  I won’t go into the gory details except to say that my mind is driving me crazy and I have cabin fever, I am freaked out about finding an affordable house in this market that isn’t in a full on ghetto, I really miss going to the movies, I’m missing my cake (doing Paleo), I can’t think of anything to write when I sit down to do my fiction and it’s too early in the game for me to have writers block.  I’m also sick and tired of being on a tight budget.  I want to go to the cafe every morning and have someone I don’t know in an apron make me a fancy drink that I carry as I stroll to the park with my children in their wagon.  I want to call someone to clean and scrub my house now and then when I’m tired.  I want to hit a matinee every Sunday and sit in a dark theater ALONE and gorge myself on popcorn and milk duds that I always, always choke on.  It’s the popcorn and milk dud combo that chokes me each time.  It’s become tradition.

I also want to get away from this crazy world but there is nowhere to run, all four corners have gone mad.  I watched the Presidential Inauguration and then started my period.  I really don’t know what this symbolizes but it might explain my crying through the event on TV.  I’m really not worked up over this Trump thing.  It is happening and who knows, perhaps things will change for the better.  I’m not God…or Jesus…or Buddha, therefore I have no insider scoop on how this will play out.  Maybe this loud mouth has a kitten’s heart.  He seems to favor his second eldest daughter and that tells me he can’t be that much of chauvinist.  A true blue chauvinist would turn to his sons, not his daughter, and not even the first child at that.

I know that blogging is supposed to be solution oriented, so here goes that:  I’ve decided to resist the chocolate, put the cable on hold again so as not to be subjected to the worldly events (besides my kids are getting too hooked on Nick Jr.), and I’ve decided that thinking is the real problem.

When I was 15 I attended an activist camp.  Yes, I did.  I met Ram Dass and we were taught how to do walking meditations.  I think back on that.  I think of the Tibetan Monks that sweep the same steps and wash the same floors day in and day out whether they need it or not.  This is their meditation.  So, my point is that you don’t need a pillow and a candle in a dark shrine to meditate.  You can do it while cleaning the house, taking a shower, walking the dog.

I started last night in bed.  I was fortunate enough to have the wonderful sound of rain.  I fell asleep.  I woke up a bit later and tried again and fell asleep with some thought on my mind.  I did it in the shower and my mind kept saying, “well, this really isn’t convenient right now, we have schedules to go over.”  I envisioned a big candle lit in the dark.  I just kept going back to that.  I did this all day.  Everytime I wanted to think something negative or critical, fearful, angry, whiny and complainy…I went back to the candle in the dark.  I repeated my mantra, “Don’t think, don’t think, don’t think.” And why think?  My thinking isn’t great and heaven seeking.  It’s a messy fixer upper that is so beyond disrepair that it needs to just be leveled and rebuilt.  So, stop thinking.  Then, when it’s safe to come out of the cave, think pretty things with sparkles and flower scented ideas.

Stick with the no sugar.  This is my last addiction.  I have run to my cake and sweets to get through all my stuff.  I have made myself chubby and unhealthy by it.  I want a big bag of candy to get through this house hunting.  Instead, I just make extra vegetables and I’ve turned to reading fiction to escape.  Boring.  The feelings come up.  I’m too tired for them anymore.  I go to the candle, stop thinking.  I’m feeling better.  I trim some bills and hook up the antenna I find in the garage.  I watched Blazing Saddles last night and laughed instead of CNN and all their stupid, “Blah, blah, Trump, blah, blah, the end is near, Trump, blah.”  Who cares.  Candle, old westerns, blank mind, a carrot, a library book.

I’m sick of cleaning so I find that if I set the timer I get it done fast.  I also find that putting all the kid’s toys away in a pantry or the garage and letting them only play with a couple items, clean up and then choose another item has drastically reduced the mess.  They used to just empty everything in the middle of the living room floor and then go off to play in a cleaner room.  I would spend hours cleaning up tiny legos just to do 5 minutes of vacuuming.  And yes, they are made to help out and that is always more time and drama.

We listen to music now, play with a toy or some blocks, I read after cleaning for 45 minutes on a timed cleaning frenzy.  I listen to the storm and lite real candles to remind me to think only about “The Candle” and I have to say…we are having some peace up in here.





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