Also, a subtitle: "How I Keep House All While Maintaining My Sanity."
So, I'll be the first to admit that I'm not the best clean freak. My threshold of too much clutter is pretty high. I'm not a slob, but I just am ok with letting the little things slide. Home maker is a full time job, with being cook, maid, maintenance, construction, designer, and mother. How's a girl to survive having a decent home with basic chores done when the time is already taken up with a full time job?
For a while I would have my Saturdays be the cleaning day. Bathrooms, kitchen, vacuuming, grocery shopping, laundry, etc. etc. etc. Which, as the years went on sucked more and more and I ended up getting less and less done on the Saturdays cause come on! It sucks! Cleaning sucks. And I'm too tired. And annoyed after maybe four hours of cleaning and back to back loads of laundry.
And so, as a solution, I do a little bit each day. I don't know where I got it from or when that clicked per se, but oh man! Makes for a much better down weekend where I can relax and recharge. I call it the Divide and the Conquer.
Divide
Each day, when I get home from work, I do one or two chores. And then I'm done. That's it. Whhaaaaaaa? But, but, how?
Easy. Here's my breakdown, with my reasoning and little helpful reminders.
Monday-Toilets (cause that's what Mondays are for, duh) and Mei's laundry (Mei Monday, get it?)
Tuesday- Towels/sheets (these switch every other week with each other, depending on need). Trash (Wednesday is trash day, so get all the trash cans emptied and tossed). Also kitty litter (any day that has a T...for turd...means do the kitty litter).
Wednesday- Whites for laundry. Trash day. Vacuum day.
Thursday- Colors for laundry. Kitty Poo Duty.
Friday- Free day cause that's what Friday's are for! Sorta. I try to get my grocery list made up on this day. Or, use this day to catch up on a day that I might have failed to complete....
Saturday- Showers and grocery shopping. Cat Crap Duty.
That's it. I do dishes at the end of each day and try to sweep at the end of each day. The end. Chores check and check.
I found it amazing how much I could clean in only half hour to an hour and a half increments in the evenings. It's a little multi tasking at it's most beautiful form and a beautiful little tower of cleaning foundations. I will on a so often Saturday deep clean something in need of some major care...fridge, oven, dusting, the details. But when I don't have mountains of laundry or cat shi shi reeking the whole floor, I can do the details without too much worry and care. Done and done.
Conquer
Theoretically by the end of Saturday, everything has been managed successfully. My Saturday is no longer a day of cramming a week worth of chores into a day. It helps me to keep organized and in control of what I am capable of doing. It is away for me to eat the elephant, or the frog...whatever that saying is. I can keep a handle on the chores and then come Saturday, I can do what I want, practically guilt free.
Am I perfect? Clear and definite NO. Cause sometimes I'm tired and then I end up doing my towels and sheets on a Saturday. Or things come up and sometimes things get rearranged. For example, I don't remember the last time I vacuumed the upstairs. The horror! But. I don't feel too bad about it, cause I'll try again the next week. I'm still working on better habits and for the love, no one is perfect.
I divide the week up into little bitable parts and I am feeling much better come Saturday. For the most part. Cause let's be honest, there's more to a house than just chores. Ask me if I unpacked my books after the almost four months since our move....But at least I've got clean clothes. It's the little things.
Tuesday, December 22, 2015
Friday, December 4, 2015
Oh, I'm sorry, you're having a baby?
Pregnancy and Birth in the work field, in my experience, are deemed as not an experience but a procedure and disability. The dreaded FMLA. The Family and Medical Leave Act was established to protect your job for up to twelve weeks due to birth/adoption and health issues. Don't get me wrong, I am grateful that I get benefits and that I can have my job reserved, but the lingo drives me nuts. To label it like it was an accident, or that it wasn't my choice? Oh, I'm sorry, you're having a baby? We will hold onto your job till you're done.
Thank you?
I read this story, of a worst nightmare and one that hits me right in the gut. The woman explains that she had to return to her work in order to keep her job/benefits/income. She did her research, found a daycare, and even had a plan on how she would divide her time between work and going to the daycare for feedings and spending time with her child. But, within the first couple hours of placing her baby in daycare, he passed away, due to undetermined reasons.
Would it had happened at home? Who knows. Would she had been able to save her child if she was still caring for the baby? Maybe. All the what ifs, the if onlys...
What I really like about her little note isn't that she is trying to blame day care workers, or her company, or anyone in particular. She laments, and I cry with her:
"Why, why does a parent in this country have to sacrifice her job, her ability to provide her child with proper health care —- or for many worse off than me, enough food to eat — to buy just a few more months to nurture a child past the point of vulnerability?"
I like to work. I do. I like to think I'm a pretty good worker. And the work place has been opened up to a lot of women. What is it? Almost half of the work force is women? We are still working on different parts, income, positions, attitudes, and whatever you can think of. One thing though that stands out to me is this idea that a mom needs so many set amount of weeks given in order to recuperate and connect with their newborn. Who are you to say how long I need? The magic number of 12 weeks? Where the bleep does that come from? What if you're not ready? What if you want just another month? A year?
Every mother/infant relationship is unique. I'm not saying that I'd want a year off or that I want only two weeks off. My experience was awesome and one that I wish I could repeat. I had spent almost four years with my job (and accumulated a massive block of sick/personal leave, it was beautiful), but when my leave was up, I was able to work part time at home and part time in the office with the evening shift. So, I had to only do day care for about nine hours total a week, just two hours a day, except for Fridays, which I believe I had the whole day at home. It. Was. Perfect. Perfect for me. I went through the anxieties though, dropping of my little one to someone else's care. We were paying an arm and a leg for the nine hours, but goodness, it was worth the extra little bit. I would go through all the worries. Would they comfort her? Help her? Know the tricks and tips? What if something happened? What if a meteor came down and took out the city, would I be able to cross the half a dozen blocks to find her? The horror!
I was lucky though, and it worked out great. Most of my fears are calmed now, at least, I like to think that there will not be a meteor that will strike us down. But, there are days that I'm driving to work, with little one in the back, and I think, does she know what I ask of her? Am I making her miss out on something?
And then what if there is a second one? Another baby? I won't have all the years worth of leave or the ability to work split shifts. Would I be able to give my newborn, three month old, over to someone else for full days? Three months old! Three. They're barely blooming and then they'll be interacting with someone else. Could I have six months? How about nine? No. Just twelve weeks. Sigh.
Is there a better way? Yes, there has to be. But, I work in a society here in America, that is go go go go work culture. There is little sympathy for a working mother, and if there is, it would be weak, an exception, or an impossibility. For example, I've had it happen to me at least three times here, but when I explain I have a child, the first question I get is, "Oh, who takes care of the baby?" or "Oh, who stays with the baby?" Let me ask you something, do you ask a father that? If you are a dude and your working along, dudidudidu, and someone finds out that you are a father or have a child, are you asked who takes care of the child? No, cause you assume the mom is, of course. My position as an employee and a mother therefore are a contradiction, at least that's what I feel like when I have to explain myself, when you ask that kind of question. I have to rationalize it to you. I have to prove to you that I'm still being a good mom.
They don't ask to be mean, I know that. It's an innocent enough question. But just shows how much of our culture is set in this idea that a woman needs to stay at the home when there are little ones. What I would give to spend the working week with my little one. But, that is not really an option for me. I live in a place where I need to work. And I need to have a day care help me. It can be a bit of a vicious, emotional cycle. I feel like I have to work, but society says that I shouldn't. But that I should and put in the hours to prove my worth. But that I should question why I should even be there. And then question my sanity or my skills as a mom, a worker, or a woman. Constant cycles.
I'll have to start a running list of "Things You Shouldn't Say to a Working Mother." Number 1: Who's taking care of the baby?
Thank you?
I read this story, of a worst nightmare and one that hits me right in the gut. The woman explains that she had to return to her work in order to keep her job/benefits/income. She did her research, found a daycare, and even had a plan on how she would divide her time between work and going to the daycare for feedings and spending time with her child. But, within the first couple hours of placing her baby in daycare, he passed away, due to undetermined reasons.
Would it had happened at home? Who knows. Would she had been able to save her child if she was still caring for the baby? Maybe. All the what ifs, the if onlys...
What I really like about her little note isn't that she is trying to blame day care workers, or her company, or anyone in particular. She laments, and I cry with her:
"Why, why does a parent in this country have to sacrifice her job, her ability to provide her child with proper health care —- or for many worse off than me, enough food to eat — to buy just a few more months to nurture a child past the point of vulnerability?"
I like to work. I do. I like to think I'm a pretty good worker. And the work place has been opened up to a lot of women. What is it? Almost half of the work force is women? We are still working on different parts, income, positions, attitudes, and whatever you can think of. One thing though that stands out to me is this idea that a mom needs so many set amount of weeks given in order to recuperate and connect with their newborn. Who are you to say how long I need? The magic number of 12 weeks? Where the bleep does that come from? What if you're not ready? What if you want just another month? A year?
Every mother/infant relationship is unique. I'm not saying that I'd want a year off or that I want only two weeks off. My experience was awesome and one that I wish I could repeat. I had spent almost four years with my job (and accumulated a massive block of sick/personal leave, it was beautiful), but when my leave was up, I was able to work part time at home and part time in the office with the evening shift. So, I had to only do day care for about nine hours total a week, just two hours a day, except for Fridays, which I believe I had the whole day at home. It. Was. Perfect. Perfect for me. I went through the anxieties though, dropping of my little one to someone else's care. We were paying an arm and a leg for the nine hours, but goodness, it was worth the extra little bit. I would go through all the worries. Would they comfort her? Help her? Know the tricks and tips? What if something happened? What if a meteor came down and took out the city, would I be able to cross the half a dozen blocks to find her? The horror!
I was lucky though, and it worked out great. Most of my fears are calmed now, at least, I like to think that there will not be a meteor that will strike us down. But, there are days that I'm driving to work, with little one in the back, and I think, does she know what I ask of her? Am I making her miss out on something?
And then what if there is a second one? Another baby? I won't have all the years worth of leave or the ability to work split shifts. Would I be able to give my newborn, three month old, over to someone else for full days? Three months old! Three. They're barely blooming and then they'll be interacting with someone else. Could I have six months? How about nine? No. Just twelve weeks. Sigh.
Is there a better way? Yes, there has to be. But, I work in a society here in America, that is go go go go work culture. There is little sympathy for a working mother, and if there is, it would be weak, an exception, or an impossibility. For example, I've had it happen to me at least three times here, but when I explain I have a child, the first question I get is, "Oh, who takes care of the baby?" or "Oh, who stays with the baby?" Let me ask you something, do you ask a father that? If you are a dude and your working along, dudidudidu, and someone finds out that you are a father or have a child, are you asked who takes care of the child? No, cause you assume the mom is, of course. My position as an employee and a mother therefore are a contradiction, at least that's what I feel like when I have to explain myself, when you ask that kind of question. I have to rationalize it to you. I have to prove to you that I'm still being a good mom.
They don't ask to be mean, I know that. It's an innocent enough question. But just shows how much of our culture is set in this idea that a woman needs to stay at the home when there are little ones. What I would give to spend the working week with my little one. But, that is not really an option for me. I live in a place where I need to work. And I need to have a day care help me. It can be a bit of a vicious, emotional cycle. I feel like I have to work, but society says that I shouldn't. But that I should and put in the hours to prove my worth. But that I should question why I should even be there. And then question my sanity or my skills as a mom, a worker, or a woman. Constant cycles.
I'll have to start a running list of "Things You Shouldn't Say to a Working Mother." Number 1: Who's taking care of the baby?
Wednesday, December 2, 2015
November side step...
For the last month, November, I have been trying to complete 50,000 word story for the NaNoWriMo. Not only did I put aside this blog, but I also did very little else. I did it, whooooo! but man, it was not fun at the end.
So, I will be now focusing again on this little dude. I've been thinking of topics and discussions all whilst battling 50,000 words and I am excited to get started.
Much love.
So, I will be now focusing again on this little dude. I've been thinking of topics and discussions all whilst battling 50,000 words and I am excited to get started.
Much love.
Tuesday, October 27, 2015
Pay Check Mom
I had this idea. Writing. It's something that I love. Am I amazing at it? Skilled? Really? I'm laughing at myself, like out loud. Literally. Like, Seriously?
Where others can think on their feet, pun, and have a quick whit, I commend and am super jealous. Seriously.
Me, I do my thinking internally, the inner monologue sort of thing where I can mull it over. Play with it, think, think, and over think. And, I can write it out. Which, I know, results in it sounding a bit...conversationy. Which is a style, right? Should be.
So, back to my idea. Writing. I have this idea that one day I will write and people will love it and I will be forever remembered as a writer.
And then life.
Always the life.
Which is a nice excuse. I'm busy. I've done the school thing, I've done the wifey thing, the mommy thing, the moving thing, and the working thing. I'd really have it no other way. I'm content with my life and it has been an amazing ride that I truly do enjoy.
But writing has taken the back stage, back corner really. Behind my priorities and tucked right beneath my insecurities.
And there it glares at me, to rear its raw and unflattering head from time to time. Where I am forced to try. Try again, try it, try again. It pleads with me. It's like, a fish. Who's got nubs for legs. And can see all the other fishes going on, growing those legs, developing them, running, falling, all joy and happiness. But, it just sits right there, at the edge of the water. Nice, comfy, safe water. You get my drift right? It's cliche and everyone has that moment, right at the waters edge. So, I won't finish that story.
But. It is my story. I don't mean to sound like it's all a check list either. I really like to think I can find moments to enjoy the moments, the state of being. But, it's my personality? Maybe that's not the right word. It's how I best judge my goals I guess. I ramble. I'll bookshelf that discussion.
Moving on.
So what's the whole point? Well. That idea. That idea of writing. I decided for it to become a solution. Or at least, an outlet. Finally, a good hold! The other day, I felt all these life events and goals that I juggle crash to the floor. I'm a mom to a 2 1/2 year old. A wife, going on almost 10 years. And, I work full time as a secretary to a university department. Those are just my jobs. I also have the regular life stuff that needs to happen in order to function as a civilized human. Laundry, for one. Eating. Bills. Family. Social life, etc etc etc. All the things that make up a day.
And I sat in my shower and just cried. Because I can usually do all of it. I can do the working, and the mommy, and the wifey and the lifey but for whatever reason (I do blame partial responsibility on the full moon, but can't break what's not cracked already, right?) I just saw this doom pit of gloom where I was just tired. And I felt completely failed as I saw each of my balls of events go right into that pit and crash. So, in the shower, I wallowed in my pity with my imaginary invisible juggle balls, invisibly smashed all around me.
I didn't like that feeling.
I want to also footnote a bit here about the dangers of comparing and the perfect-life-that-is-so-unattainable-you-make-me-vomit idea. Again, bookshelf that one.
No one likes that feeling. It's a depression. And a stress. And frankly, it's not healthy.
And then the next morning, light bulb.
Epiphany.
Answer to prayers/pleas/promise.
Why not write about it. The scary B word...the Blog.
This dead old depreciated thing that I have given up and killed like...five times. Oh, look, I checked...that would be a gentleman's six.
But write what? One thing, and then kill it dead?
The working mom. The Pay Check Mom, if you will. Cause I don't really consider myself a working mom, that sounds like business suits and executive and out to change the world one report at a time. No. I'm just the pay check mom. Because sometimes life means you have to earn a pay check. I'm not out for a career, not out to change the workforce with some kind of feminist fire to burn. Nope nope. Just have the bills to worry about. But I want to still be a mom, and still want to be a wife, a sister, a friend, a coworker, and just be Britni.
Does that make me an expert? No. I'm sure a working mom that went out for a career and working field would eat me alive. But, I'm a firm believer that everyone's experience is different, even with the same events that occur on two different women.
It does provide me with an experience though, that maybe some other working mom could use. And in turn, maybe they can share with me. Because that's what women do and that's how we grow strong. Connections.
And so, this idea. This blog. To help me share my experience as a Pay Check Mom. I can write. I can work. And I can find a way to maybe make a life out of it, or at least be remembered for it. I'm not asking for a movie or a reality star moment. But just a place to talk about the multiple worlds that is a woman's life. It will be an outlet for frustrating days or nights when crying in the shower (a real must sometimes, I might add. Not ashamed of that, nope nope) seem like the only thing you can be successful at.
Where others can think on their feet, pun, and have a quick whit, I commend and am super jealous. Seriously.
Me, I do my thinking internally, the inner monologue sort of thing where I can mull it over. Play with it, think, think, and over think. And, I can write it out. Which, I know, results in it sounding a bit...conversationy. Which is a style, right? Should be.
So, back to my idea. Writing. I have this idea that one day I will write and people will love it and I will be forever remembered as a writer.
And then life.
Always the life.
Which is a nice excuse. I'm busy. I've done the school thing, I've done the wifey thing, the mommy thing, the moving thing, and the working thing. I'd really have it no other way. I'm content with my life and it has been an amazing ride that I truly do enjoy.
But writing has taken the back stage, back corner really. Behind my priorities and tucked right beneath my insecurities.
And there it glares at me, to rear its raw and unflattering head from time to time. Where I am forced to try. Try again, try it, try again. It pleads with me. It's like, a fish. Who's got nubs for legs. And can see all the other fishes going on, growing those legs, developing them, running, falling, all joy and happiness. But, it just sits right there, at the edge of the water. Nice, comfy, safe water. You get my drift right? It's cliche and everyone has that moment, right at the waters edge. So, I won't finish that story.
But. It is my story. I don't mean to sound like it's all a check list either. I really like to think I can find moments to enjoy the moments, the state of being. But, it's my personality? Maybe that's not the right word. It's how I best judge my goals I guess. I ramble. I'll bookshelf that discussion.
Moving on.
So what's the whole point? Well. That idea. That idea of writing. I decided for it to become a solution. Or at least, an outlet. Finally, a good hold! The other day, I felt all these life events and goals that I juggle crash to the floor. I'm a mom to a 2 1/2 year old. A wife, going on almost 10 years. And, I work full time as a secretary to a university department. Those are just my jobs. I also have the regular life stuff that needs to happen in order to function as a civilized human. Laundry, for one. Eating. Bills. Family. Social life, etc etc etc. All the things that make up a day.
And I sat in my shower and just cried. Because I can usually do all of it. I can do the working, and the mommy, and the wifey and the lifey but for whatever reason (I do blame partial responsibility on the full moon, but can't break what's not cracked already, right?) I just saw this doom pit of gloom where I was just tired. And I felt completely failed as I saw each of my balls of events go right into that pit and crash. So, in the shower, I wallowed in my pity with my imaginary invisible juggle balls, invisibly smashed all around me.
I didn't like that feeling.
I want to also footnote a bit here about the dangers of comparing and the perfect-life-that-is-so-unattainable-you-make-me-vomit idea. Again, bookshelf that one.
No one likes that feeling. It's a depression. And a stress. And frankly, it's not healthy.
And then the next morning, light bulb.
Epiphany.
Answer to prayers/pleas/promise.
Why not write about it. The scary B word...the Blog.
This dead old depreciated thing that I have given up and killed like...five times. Oh, look, I checked...that would be a gentleman's six.
But write what? One thing, and then kill it dead?
The working mom. The Pay Check Mom, if you will. Cause I don't really consider myself a working mom, that sounds like business suits and executive and out to change the world one report at a time. No. I'm just the pay check mom. Because sometimes life means you have to earn a pay check. I'm not out for a career, not out to change the workforce with some kind of feminist fire to burn. Nope nope. Just have the bills to worry about. But I want to still be a mom, and still want to be a wife, a sister, a friend, a coworker, and just be Britni.
Does that make me an expert? No. I'm sure a working mom that went out for a career and working field would eat me alive. But, I'm a firm believer that everyone's experience is different, even with the same events that occur on two different women.
It does provide me with an experience though, that maybe some other working mom could use. And in turn, maybe they can share with me. Because that's what women do and that's how we grow strong. Connections.
And so, this idea. This blog. To help me share my experience as a Pay Check Mom. I can write. I can work. And I can find a way to maybe make a life out of it, or at least be remembered for it. I'm not asking for a movie or a reality star moment. But just a place to talk about the multiple worlds that is a woman's life. It will be an outlet for frustrating days or nights when crying in the shower (a real must sometimes, I might add. Not ashamed of that, nope nope) seem like the only thing you can be successful at.
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