I just did a quick sweeping job in the kitchen. No I didn't leave the floor clean enough to eat off of. I just got the biggest crumb magnet- the corner by the stove where we seem to stand to make our sandwiches and toast. There's almost always a little pile of crumbs there. Oh, I did sweep up some of the dust bunnies here and there too.
The last couple of days I decided it was time to wash the sheets from all of the beds that were slept on since December. Now that it's just Nick and me here, I can do that. Then I made all of the beds. And I had an ongoing dialog with myself. In my head. I was remembering how my own mother taught me to make a bed. The top sheet goes on with the pattern (if there is one) facing down. The top sheet is pulled up enough so that the hem can be folded over. Once that hem is folded over, the covers (blankets) can go on- pulled right to the edge of where the hem is folded over. Then that hem piece can be folded down over the covers and the wrong side is folded under and the right side is what shows where it's folded over the covers. On the foot of the bed, first the bottom sheet is tucked in across the bottom of the mattress Then on each side that bit that has been folded under is pulled up as a corner (also called a hospital corner) and tucked in Repeat with the blankets. If there's more than one blanket, tuck them in as one
Why do I remember this? Why do I care, and why is it important to me? It's not as if my mother sat me down and "taught" me - she showed me. And I understood and remembered. And so, it is important to me. It feels like the right way to do it. Orderly and neat. And it looks nice.
Then I flash forward to my own children. I think I taught them how to make their beds. I can't remember. But I know that they don't seem to have that same feeling of satisfaction in the orderliness in making a bed that I have.
Is that a flaw? Is it my flaw that I care? Is it theirs (and Nick's) that they don't care? I don't even think it's not caring, I think it is just genetically who I am. It's peace to me to see order. It used to drive me crazy when the kids were all living at home. I took it personally - it felt like they didn't care about me or acknowledge my feelings. But I don't think that is the case at all. It really is not about me and has nothing to do with me.
Laundry is another thing that matters to me. I know that Nick would do the laundry if he needed to or if I asked him to. But again, I have made is mine. I am very particular about how everything is folded and put away. I know that as a teenager I was as sloppy as anyone. But I also know that I made dividers in my dresser drawers to separate my socks from my underwear. My long sleeved shirts from short sleeved.
I used to make seven piles of clean laundry on the family room floor. They were sorted by age. And actually, each pile was sub-divided. Socks; underpants; undershirts; short sleeved shirts; long sleeved shirts; long pants and short pants. With four sons all wearing the same type of socks it could be challenging. So I used a sharpie and put their initials on the bottoms of their socks.
And of course there were the diapers. Cloth. Washed three days a week. Folded fresh and warm from the dryer. If nothing else was done, by the end of the day there was clean laundry and a pile of fresh, white diapers. On Fridays I tried to change beds and wash all of the sheets and towels so I wouldn't have anything to wash on the weekends.
I know that as a stay at home mother with a big tribe I got frustrated and overwhelmed. Life would often get in the way. One kid or another had an after school activity. Someone would get hurt and need my lap, or kiss, or occasionally a trip to the hospital to have a bone set or get stitches .
And now it's just the two of us and Buddy the dog. We make little bits of clutter here and there. Magazines and newspapers pile up My knitting spreads out around my chair. Nick does the shopping. I do the laundry. Once a week now usually. Two loads- one of dark and one of light clothes.
With the pandemic now our calendar is practically empty. No social get togethers. No dinners with our monthly dinner group. No in person La Leche League activities. Nothing is really urgent - unless it is.
I wrote a paper called "The Zen of Sweeping". I hope I find it again one day. It was a college paper in my Creative Writing class. I was already staring to be an empty nester, so it was a reflection on being a mom .
I find myself feeling down a lot lately. Depressed I suppose. I am sure that the pandemic is a big contributor. The self imposed isolation. And the reality of getting older that includes losing friends more and more often. If I live long enough, like Nick's grandmother used to say, they will all be gone.
Having all of the kids here for Christmas was wonderful, exciting, exhausting and busy. We ran the dishwasher three times a day. Now we run it every other day. How did we do it with all those kids and their friends? I guess it helps that we were younger and more resilient.
I used to sit on the floor just because. No reason, I just did. Often with kids climbing on me. Now, if I drop something on the floor, I have to decided how badly I want to pick it up. Then I have to strategize How I will pick it up- or if it's even worth it!
Oh, here's my last thing for today. I gave everyone these sticky- slingshot type chickens as stocking stuffers. The kids shot them all over and some stayed stuck to the ceiling . Nick used a pole that is for changing lightbulbs and was able to reach and remove the chickens!
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