|This is not my place!|
I claim that it is the repetitiveness of it that kills me. I claim that it is the relentlessness that puts me off. I claim that it is the thanklessness of it that prevents me from learning to love it.
I do the bare essentials; as infrequently as possible.
When I am out of the house for the day and get home and there are literally toys strewn everywhere, dishes piled up, washing folded the night before still in neat little piles waiting to be put away, children's pyjamas still sitting in the pile they were discarded in when they got dressed in the morning, it makes me realise that I do actually have an impact on the daily life around here.
I am bad at it, but I still make a difference.
That is reassuring in its own way.
What are you like as a housewife? Any kindred spirits out there?