I’ll admit it, I have a pre-disposition to slobbery–the reason being that, when I was a teenager, I was actually a slob. My clothes lived all over my room, wherever they landed, basically. It was a treacherous sea of clothing and pointy shoe hidden landmines. Visitors entered at their own risk.
After years of pleading, my poor mom finally gave up and asked of me but one request: Keep the door closed!
I’d love to say that my unkempt-way-of-life improved when I went off to university, but I’d be lying. My four housemates will attest to the fact that I really didn’t pull my weight on the home front. When the chores were divvied up, I was always given the least demanding tasks like sweeping the laundry room floor and dusting the fireplace mantel. My more responsible pals took on the biggies like cleaning the kitchen and the living room.
I was a jerk. I see that now. But I’m fairly confident, as we’re all still friends, that what I lacked in domestic prowess I made up for in ridiculousness. And really, what house of university friends doesn’t appreciate that? Right? I played a mean leg guitar, my Dr. Evil impression was tops, and my Rat Face (which, as it sounds, is an impression of a rat’s face) is still alive and well and has even been passed down to our kids. It wasn’t until I moved into my own little apartment that I gained a bit of house pride, but only a bit. I was hardly there.
Fast forward 18 years: I’m now living in a house of five again, only this time I’m in charge of tidying, cleaning, and organizing the entire stinkin’ thing while the kids provide the silliness and the husband feigns poor cleaning skills. So basically, we’ve come full circle and I get it. I totally get it.
I also get that by having kids, I signed up for all this. I think I was a bit naïve, though. I didn’t quite comprehend how much mess they would actually produce and I sometimes wonder if life would be easier if I was still a carefree slob.
But, I’m not. I like a tidy house.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m not boasting Show Home status, by any means. But there are times when our house looks pretty damn good–if only for a few precious moments. There are also times when it appears a bomb has gone off. And, occasionally–amidst the wreckage–I cry. I cry, and then I wonder if it’s the slob in me feeling hard done by? I can’t be sure but I do know that we can all benefit from a good cry every once in a while.
Personally, I find combining oven scrubbing with sobbing, to be very therapeutic. I highly recommend it.
Partaking in a cry ‘n scrub, doesn’t mean I’m not grateful to have an oven to cook with, a home to live in, and a healthy family to take care of. It simply means that sometimes the weight of motherhood just builds up, sort of like the food on the inside of my oven window- all caked on and tough to scrub off.
But the tears help. It’s not good to let things build up.
Whether we are crying, laughing, or sprawled out- zonked-on the couch at the end of the day we, moms, deserve a nice treat. And there is no treat more perfect for a house-cleaning, family-organizing mom (who used to be a slob) than an Extra Dirty Martini.
This is how you make one…
If you’ve enjoyed this story then you’ll love the new anthology/martini guide, Martinis & Motherhood: Tales of Wonder, Woe & WTF?! from Tipsy Squirrel Press. It features honest tales from 37 talented, down-to-earth, and funny mom-writers including a bunch of BLUNTmoms! Tara Wilson, Shannon Day, Lynn Morrison, Magnolia Ripkin, Brooke Takhar, Lisa Webb, Kristine Laco, Olga Mecking, Angila Peters, Alison Huff, Jill Robbins, and Cordelia Newlin de Rojas all have a story and martini to share.
Available on Amazon. Learn more about the book, here.