If there’s one thing I’ll never understand, it’s how a child can destroy a room in two seconds.
With the kids at their dad’s house two or three nights a week, I tend to have a bit of time to clean house. Now before all you married mummies give me the evil eye, trust me. It’s not as nice as it sounds.
I’ve had a few people tell me they wish they had a couple nights a week to devote to housecleaning.
To those people I raise an eyebrow and say, “Are you kidding me? House cleaning is the very last thing I want to be doing on the two nights a week when I am not solely responsible for two children.”
I think I understand what they’re saying, though. They must, as I once did, envision a single mum getting to kick back, clean house, drink her wine, or go out to movie or even a date. What they don’t realise is that with all the other responsibilities fall onto our shoulders when running a household goes from two to one, those two nights don’t contain enough hours.
I try, though, to drag myself through the house after work on Tuesday nights and clean. I put away laundry. I dust. I sweep. I mop. I put together lunches for the rest of the week. I grocery shop. I clean the bathroom. It’s a glamour life, I tell you.
And then, two seconds after the come back to my welcoming arms, I look around the living room and see pillows off the couch, toys scattered, and shoes tossed hither and yon. My shoulders slump and I resign myself to a clean, but messy house.
At least I don’t have to worry about big work boots tracking mud.
And to be honest, there’s always something missing when I’m not stepping on the fourteenth Lego of the day.