Tag Archives: homemaking

No Satisfaction

When I was in the pre-teen/early teen years, I could always guarantee myself the most profound feeling of satisfaction by the end of the day, simply by completely a list of certain chores:

  1. Clean out dog’s pen, water and food dish.
  2. Clean out guinea pigs cages, water bottles, line their cages with fresh grass and give them a pile of pellets.
  3. Tidy, dust and vacuum my room.
  4. Launder my sheets then make my bed up nice.
  5. Take a shower.
  6. Organize my books by author or subject, or whatever my whim happened to be.

Mind you, these days were few and far between. But when I made it happen, I would lay in bed that night feeling completely and utterly fulfilled in my existence. I had set all right with the world.

I haven’t felt that in a long, long time.

Even on a day like today, when I’ve gotten so much done already (almost 4 p.m. now), it doesn’t matter. Before I fall asleep I’ll feel like the biggest failure, slacker, my to-do list still weighing me down.

So far today I’ve:

  1. Done a load of laundry.
  2. Run a load of dishes through the dishwasher (after having put away a load of clean ones).
  3. Watered front and back garden.
  4. Done some weeding, mulching and some trimming of bushes.
  5. Harvested some zucchini and cucumbers.
  6. Snaked out our shower drain (finally.)
  7. Hemmed my new work pants (finally.)
  8. Answered a work email.
  9. Taken the dog out several times, fed and watered him.
  10. Played games and puzzles with kids.
  11. Prepared and served breakfast, lunch and a snack.
  12. Wiped down counters and dining table.
  13. Made my bed.
  14. Changed Gwen about 5 times, two of which were poopy.

And probably some other stuff I’ve forgotten. Pretty typical day. I’m certainly not a failure or a slacker.

I just feel like one all the time.

I wonder if I can ever get back to where I can feel good about my day? When enough will once again feel like enough?

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Compost Buckets With Flair

Our Compost Bucket -- "Party Mix - For People You Hate"

My husband decided to customize our compost bucket. He’s a good one for covering all contingencies, such as finding oneself burdened with undesirable company. Just offer them a delightful assortment of rotting lemon rinds, coffee grounds and slimy egg shells with an ever-so-delicate sprinkling of half-chewed toast!

Reminds me of when I was a kid and my father would just happen to take out the compost bucket while I was eating dinner (my parents like to pretend they’re European and eat at 9 or 10 o’clock at night, but I, being comfortable with my Americanness, preferred to eat at the more civilized hour of 5 o’clock, so it was always me dining solo.) He’d sneak up behind me and waft the bucket under my ┬ánose, inquiring politely, “You want some of this?” then chuckle as I squealed in horror.

Come to think of it, my husband and my father have pretty much the same sense of humor.

I’m not going to extrapolate the available information and consider the possibility that my father saw me as an unwelcome guest. After all, there was nothing written on his bucket.

But if you’re visiting my house and you think my husband’s about to take out the compost… you might want to brace yourself.