Housework in stages...

Let me make one thing clear- I hate all housework. I've always hated it. "What is the chore you hate the most?" ALL OF THEM! I hate them all equally.

But, early in my life as an adult, I kept a clean house. I see my daughter's apartment and I remember that my house used to be clean. To me, back then, "cluttered" was having the mail visible on the table. At age 18, I became sick for no explainable reason. Six months and one hundred pounds later, they figured out I had a thyroid disorder. I started taking the medicine for it and BAM! Clean house again.

And when I had kids, the house was as clean as one could get it while having kids. I picked things up, I vacuumed. It was no big deal. I still hated it, but I could do it. I'd begrudgingly drag the vacuum out and shove it around the floor. I'd pick up kids' toys (or they would, I didn't care who did it), I'd put the dog toys away. Drag that stupid vacuum around.

The disabled guy started doing some of the housework and I will tell you, I didn't mind at all. I still hated it and if he was willing to do it, who was I to stop him? Eventually, we reached a balance where the house was mostly clean- clean enough that I wouldn't be embarrassed if my parents came over without calling. We never had to have that moment where we tornado through the house, throwing everything into a closet and leaning against the door to get it to close just as they walked into the house. Which is good, because this house has no closet downstairs. And I think they'd notice if I piled everything up and threw a drop cloth over it.

Then, this stupid illness happened. And things slowly went downhill. And he started leaving me for four and five months at a time. I can't do housework anymore. And even though I absolutely still hate housework, it pisses me off that I can't do it. I have to do it in stages. I wait till I'm two hours into my pain meds so I can stand for the ten minutes it takes to do the dishes. I vacuum and then have to rest for hours after or I end up hurting the next day, wondering to myself why I hurt like the Hulk and I were sparring partners. Then I gimp past that vacuum cleaner and remember... "Ohhhh, that's right. I danced with the Dyson in the pale moonlight..."

That's what that means, right? It means I vacuumed before I went to bed last night, right? That quote would have been waaaay cooler had I owned a Dirt Devil instead of that Dyson, wouldn't it?

So, the disabled guy is coming home today (allegedly). And I haven't done anything to the house that needs to be done. I've been doing my usual stuff (taking the dogs out, did the dishes, had to rest a lot, I'm exhausted, and my muscles ache so hard that I can't stretch my arms over my head). But I need to pick up the dog toys and vacuum. And I can't. I could pick up the dog toys, but then while I was resting, they'd just drag them back out.

I wonder if I could train a dog to push a Dyson around?

OH, that's a ridiculous thought. The dogs are terrified of the vacuum cleaner. They'll lay down their tiny furry lives to protect me from the shadow that was created by a butterfly flittering by the window, but when I wield that noisy monster, I'm on my own. They stand behind me, barking at it. "WE GOT YOUR BACK, MOM! YOU GO AND WE'LL BE RIGHT HERE!"

Like when the cats are in the bathroom while I'm in the shower. "HOLY CRAP, MOM! ITS ALL OVER YOU!"

What caused this flareup? Well, yesterday morning, we had frost on the ground and it was around 32° Fahrenheit. It got up to around 56­°. Today? We're at 84° right now (121 PM). My body is not happy with that drastic change. Most of the pain is in my hands, arms, lower back, and shoulders today. Probably because yesterday I did the bedding on our bed. The disabled guy's side of the bed was covered in cat hair, so I had to do the blankets and comforter.

And I know, I can hear you asking: "Why don't I make the kids do it?"  Well, two of them don't live at home. The one who does is gone most of the time and sleeping when he's not. (He works nights, sleeps in the daytime). I suppose I could make the kids clean the house, but for some reason, luring them home and then handing them the broom seems a little, I don't know... bitchy.

So far today, I managed to do the dishes, I put the sofa blankets in the wash, I've taken the dogs out a few times, I made lunch. And I've looked at the vacuum and sighed heavily a few times.

That counts, right?