Quality Time

Warning: You may need an SSRI prescription to read this post.

I read this really compelling blog post a few days ago that placed Woolf’s A Room of One’s Own into the context of modern day lives and I found it both reassuring and immeasurably sad. But mostly pin-sharp in its honesty. In particular, the poster’s discussion of how she used to agonise over just the right word, spend hours writing a paragraph to get it just so and how now, she’ll cram herself into the bathroom for fifteen minutes to dash out a piece. Trying to get things done on the cracks and that grey feeling that accompanies everything you do, because it just all feels like a crap effort. Her strugglings, her compromises made my heart ache because she was just so honest about the realities of trying to get it all done.

I’m writing this too in ten minutes whilst my floors are drying, before my lovely girl arrives back from dance class with her dad. If it makes no sense at all, that will be why. The Monkey-face’s dance class is something we always usually do together, but honestly the home is so disgusting, I skipped the lesson to get something done. If I’m even more honest, in part I feel so exhausted and depressed today I just don’t want to face all those other competent happy Saturday mothers with their happy children and their lives that work and their gardens and everything else. Im being childish and self-obsessed. I’m sure 50 percent of them are having the same meltdown whilst writing their own adequacies large on the internet that will trigger responses that only servd to highlight actually everyone DOESNT feel like you at all.

I’ve had 90 minutes sleep, tops and I think need these 90 minutes of my own just to get it together today. Saturdays drive me a bit mental. So much to do and so little time in which to cram it all in, I ruin it before it’s even begun by alternating trilling Quality Time, Quality Time with obsession with how many chores need to be done. And in all honesty, if some of those chores don’t happen, life just doesnt work in the week.

So, as well as being utterly knackered, I’m just really sick of not only trying to make it all work but actually trying to move forward. Sick of hoping to actually get anything done that is valuable in between trying to battle with filth and filthy moods, not all of them mine.

I was all set to write a funny piece (well, as funny as these pieces get. Perhaps wry would be more accurate) about Parenting, using books. I dont think Supernanny would approve, but so what. I thought about it a few days ago when I managed to dissuade the monkey from her meltdown on the way to the childminder by using The Gingerbread Man. I got her to snap out of it right off by starting to sing our little ditty “run run as fast you can, you can’t catch me I’m The Gingerbread Man.”

It got me thinking about all the other tips and tricks I use: Crazy Hair to get her hair brushed.

We’re Wearing Out the Naughty Step to get her to understand being naughty and time out.

Everybody Poos to get her on the potty.

What do you guys all use? If any of you know any that do the same job for compulsively stuck, change-resistent adults, I’m all ears.

The floors are dry now, so off I pop. Thanks for listening.


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