Messy Nessy

Hello again! I have finally madeit back to another Friday Reflections link up. I'm sure you've been beside yourselves missing me. What's that? You hadn't noticed I was gone? How rude. Sniff. Oh well, I'm back, anyway. I did expect trumpets, streamers and exclamations of joy to mark this momentous occasion. But you're right. A quiet and graceful return to the fold is much classier. Though I can't help thinkng, couldn't you even manage just ONE balloon? Some people.

Enough about that. Let's get on with it.

The prompt I have chosen is this:

 Are you messy or neat? What about your family/people you share your house with? Does it work well?

Here goes...

Have you ever looked around at your surroundings, the place you call home, your sanctuary, your precious abode and beamed with satisfaction and pride? Have you surveyed the gleaming surfaces and pristine rooms while a surge of sheer euphoria engulfed you at the blissful state of Konmari perfection you have created? Yes?

HMPH. Well, good for you. I'm sorry to say, I'm not sure we'd get along. For I am your worst nightmare.

There is no doubt about it. I'm a messy little minx.You can call me Messy Nessy if you want. I've been called worse things.

It's not that I don't TRY. Honestly, I do. No, TRULY!  Sometimes I try SO HARD. And the harder I try the more ridiculous it is.

It's a funny thing about me. Like a lot of things. I seem to be all or nothing. Either I am going batshit crazy and cleaning ALL THE THINGS like a possessed person, or I literally have less than zero interest. It's like trying to motivate myself to dress in a chicken suit and run down the street singing bah bah black  sheep at the tops of my lungs. The idea is absurd, repugnant and I just CAN'T EVEN.

Luckily, Mickey Blue Eyes and I are similar. We're both fairly messy and disorganised. Although, to be fair, he does do all the clothes washing. He washes and hangs it out it, while I have the unenviable task of folding and putting away. This seems to work for us. And we take turns doing the dishes by hand because we don't have a dishwasher. I know! What are we like?

Meanwhile, the boys are fairly typical of most teens/kids. Cleaning is not high on their list of priorities, but they will do it if we insist upon it. The only thing is, I have to admit I struggle to teach them to be something that I am not. How do you teach another person to be neat, tidy and well organised if you're not any of those things yourself? It's a tough one for me.

As I've mentioned before, I struggle with executive functioning due to my ASD. I have this weird dichotomy where my actual preference is for order and cleanliness but I am ABSOLUTELY HOPELESS at being the person who can create it. It's super frustrating and depressing at times. Sigh.

I've tried various techniques. Lists, online sites or apps such as Evernote and Todoist and read a tonne of books. I even attended a de-cluttering workshop which I talked about here.

For the record, I'm not a hoarder. My house doesn't resemble something off an episode of Hoarders: Buried Alive (books don't count!). Tables and lounges can be used for what they are intended for and there is no climbing over things. However, it's just not as neat and tidy as I would like. Sigh.

 After attending the above workshop, I did come to the conclusion that I'm doing reasonably okay for someone who has ASD (officially diagnosed) and ADD (self-diagnosed). So I guess I've kinda sorta made my peace with it. But not really. It does upset me. I often wish I was one of those organised, meticulous people who have towels that match and spotless white furniture and fittings.

It's just not going to happen. Sorry, Mickey Blue Eyes! Sorry, Mum!

On the plus side, there is indisputable evidence that messy people are, in fact, geniuses.
Articles on the internet are concrete evidence, right?As Einstein was alleged to have stated: If a cluttered desk a sign of a cluttered mind, of what, then, is an empty desk a sign?

So there you have it. I'm a messy monster and not a neat freak. Messy Nessy. But I'm also a GENIUS. Though why a genius can't figure out stuff that is basically menial tasks is curious...

HMPH. Details!

Right, I'm off to be all genius-like and, erm...make mess. Or something.

What about you?

Are you a genius/messy monster or a neat freak? 

Read More

The Stuff I Would Outsource

Today I am contemplating the things or areas of my life that I would wish to outsource if I could. I'm thinking that they are going to be pretty freaking obvious. I mean, who wouldn't outsource all house work and mind numbing chores if they could? If you answered that YOU wouldn't, it's likely that you are deeply insane and require therapy immediately.  Or that you are simply a too good to be true anal retentive perfectionist. If so, unfortunately we can't be friends because I could  never invite you into my dishevelled house for a cakie and a cuppa. Which would be devastating for you. I'm pretty awesome, after all. Even if my house isn't.

Clearly, all house work would be at the top of my list of potential out sourcing. Is it one word, or two? Who knows. Whatever. If I never had to scrub a toilet again it would be way too soon for me. Ugh. Especially as I live in a house with four males and we only have one toilet. Because that is how non-cashed up bogans do it.  We don't live in double storey split level Mc Mansions with six bedrooms and four bathrooms.  Fark, imagine having to clean that many bathrooms? Frankly I don't want the Mc Mansion unless it comes with a cleaner as well.

Of course there is also the lovely little problem of Lego. I would love to have a Lego Fairy as well as a House Work and Dinner Fairy. We seem to possess truck loads of the stuff and while I do insist that Mr 5 and 9 pick it up themselves, somehow it has a mind and a will of it's own and still seems to migrate to every possible corner and crevice of the house.

When I'm getting dressed and notice something odd inside my shoe. Lego.

When I ease my weary, aching body into bed of an evening only to find something uncomfortable in my nether regions. Lego.

When I'm frantically searching through my handbag or car for a coin for the trolley at Aldi. What do I find instead? Lego.

When I want to just be able to plug the vacuum cleaner in and give the house a once over. What do I find? A million bloody random tiny pieces of Lego that are inevitably going to be sucked into my brand new 500 hundred dollar Dyson and begin rattling away. Sigh.

Another area of life I wish I could outsource or at the very least, avoid,  is Awkward Conversations With Acquaintances You Don't Know Very Well. You know the kind. The person you might walk past almost everyday during school drop off and pick up. You don't really know them but you still feel obliged to say a polite hello. Then you might mention the weather and how much your children have all grown, at which point you've completely run out of things to say to each other. So you mumble something about how you better get going and flee. Rinse. Repeat. Everyday. Or every other day. Same thing. I am truly awful and hideous but how many times can you have the same banal conversation? Of course, I suppose the only way to get to know people is to actually talk to them but...jeez, don't get all logical on me. Okay, I'm just an anti-social biatch! Deal with it. Hmph.

I would also love to be able to clone myself so that I could outsource all of those horrid, mortifying doctors appointments such as Pap Smears. The only conversation that is more awkward than the ones you have with acquaintances you don't know very well are the ones you have with your GP or Gyno while they have a cold speculum inserted in your doo dah. Look, I was going to go with va jay jay but changed my mind at the last minute. Doo dah it is. Not the technical term but you know what I mean. Shut up.

Which reminds me, I am going to get my tits squashed (ie. Mammogrammed) for the first time next Monday and I expect it shall be not only awkward but frightfully painful. Why don't men have to have their bollocks squashed to buggery? So unfair. I am pausing to pout and sulk a for a little while as weepy violin music swells in the background. Right, sulking ceased. Violin music fades.

On with the show. Other things I wish I could outsource:

Packing: I am a chronic over packer. If there was such a thing as Over Packers Anonymous I would certainly be a member. Plus, I tend to become overly stressed over the whole procedure. Despite extensive list making I always seem to worry that I'll forget something vital.

Cooking: I am constantly waiting for the old Dinner Fairy that never shows up. Sometimes I don't mind cooking but when you have to cook everyday for a family of fussy eaters it becomes a tad tedious. The resulting washing up is even more tedious especially when you don't have a dishwasher. Yep, we're certifiable.

Parent/Teacher Interviews: I sometimes wish I could clone myself for these or outsource them too. For some absurd reason they make me squirm. I somehow feel like I'm back at school doing some sort of exam or test and I'm never sure what questions I'm supposed to ask. Also, I'm embarrassed to admit that I don't understand the boys homework should the subject come up. Mr 12's parent/teacher interviews are coming up and I've suddenly realised that now that he is in High School I'll have to see several different teachers instead of just one. Save me.

Well, there you have it. That's the stuff I would outsource.  I should probably think about outsourcing this  blog too but I won't because it's got my name on it. So ner.

Linking up with Kirsty from My Home Truths for I Must Confess.

                                             
                                                  What areas of your life would you outsource?

Read More

I'm Not Spotless, I'm Clueless

Being a Boganville Housewife Extraordinaire supposedly means it is my job to keep the Bogan Box in a reasonable state of cleanliness and order. It's only a small house, as the word Box would suggest, so therefore you'd think it wouldn't be too difficult.

Wrong. I simply do not get housework.  Anybody who walks into my home could be forgiven for thinking that I am a lazy, feral sloth creature.  That all I do all day is sit on the computer posting boring as batshit blogs and Facebook updates.  And I would never do anything like that. Ahem. Mainly because I can't now. But that's not the point.  I do have one. I promise. I will get to it presently.

The truth is, I have tried so hard to be a Domestic Goddess. To de-clutter, organise and have everything gleaming and perfect.  Or, if not perfect, at least somewhat presentable. 

Inside the Bogan Box. This was a good day. Oh, shut up.

I have purchased all the gear. The mops, brooms, tubs of Gumption, bleach and Pledge Grab-Its.  I even purchased that awful smug book called Spotless. And the even smugger (is that a word?) Speed Cleaning, which promised I could have a spotlessly clean house in 15 minutes a day. Uh, yeah right.

 I thought I would finally find the secret answer and knowledge that everyone seems to have but me.  Apparently it's bi-carb and vinegar, according to that book.

Bi-carb and vinegar fix everything.  So I bought those too. But somehow, my house still isn't gleaming. Not even remotely. It smells really vinegary though. Sigh.

The problem is, I can't even logically work out how to go about all the tasks I need to do.  If I have say, ten things I know I need to do (it's more like 17 million on any given day, really, but I condensed it) I can't work out how to prioritise them in a completely rational, logical way as most people seem to.  I feel bewildered and over-whelmed before I even begin.

"Write a list. " Mick tells me.  I've tried that too. Lists and I don't get on.  I either forget the list, lose the list or have a lovely list of the things I failed to complete that day mocking me from the fridge door.

This picture does not accurately reflect the amount of washing
in our house, which would actually be enough to fill the Indian Ocean.

So I'll just plough in and start doing something, usually folding washing. We always have mountains of the stuff.  Something or someone ends up distracting me. It could be the phone ringing or Mick talking to me. Mainly it's the boys.  Or I'll just walk to another room to put the clothes away, become completely distracted by something that needs doing there and end up totally forgetting the piles of clothes back in the other room I still haven't put away.

This leads to Micky Blue Eyes finding the piles later, and becoming annoyed thinking that I deliberately left them there for him to put away.  I never do.  I just simply forget. The truth is I am just a very forgetful and easily distracted person, especially when it comes to housework.

On the surface it appears that I don't care about this. About the state of my home. That I am deliberately blase about cleanliness and order. Thoroughly relaxed and unconcerned. On the inside, however, this is not the case whatsoever and it actually causes me a great deal of consternation.  I've spent nights unable to sleep going over and over it. Truly. Feeling bad about myself because I don't seem to get something so seemingly simple. I mean, it's not Rocket Science is it?  These are routine, menial tasks.

To make matters worse, we never invite people over, simply because I am too ashamed.  The shame and guilt eat me alive some days.
It also appears that I am the furthest thing possible from a perfectionist.  Judging from the perpetual state of my home the idea is truly laughable and absurd, I realise. However, I struggle with the belief that I should be perfect.

Not only should I be a perfect Domestic Goddess with a gleaming home looking like something straight of a Home Beautiful magazine, but I should also be the perfect mother.  Able to cook exquisite meals which are promptly served at 6pm every night.  Have my boys into a strict routine.

 But even that's not quite enough. I think I should also be able to make time not just to get a bit of exercise, but to literally train almost to the degree of an Olympic Athlete. Oh, and since we are living in Boganville, if we wish to have any hope of making it to Boganville Heights, I really should be working outside the home and earning money. 

In addition to this, I feel I should really make time to be a creative genius with my writing.  A boring as batshit blog isn't good enough. I should have been able to have whipped up a best-selling novel, you know, by lunch time. Yesterday.

I think I see where the problem is.

I'm not a perfectionist. I'm a should-ist.  I think I should be perfect, and therefore because I fall so glaringly and pathetically short of my list of shoulds I constantly feel like a useless failure.

These feelings don't work for me.  There is no pay-off for me, in cleaning all day.  I can't seem to find any positive feeling of a job well done or pride in my home.  I just feel like I'm repeatedly failing at something that is supposedly easy or menial. So, the more I think about it, it actually makes sense that I  would eventually feel like giving up on it. It's not that I'm lazy. It's more like it just doesn't work for me, there's no pay-off, so I might as well be blowed and forget it and do something else that does work for me. Like writing this blog .Even if I feel like I should be doing something else.

After a diagnosis of Aspergers last year, I'm pretty sure it's time to let all the shoulds go.  Maybe there are some Aspergians out there who are thoroughly logical, clean and ordered. I am not one of them.

 One of the traits of Aspergers can be reduced Executive Function, which refers to a lot of the things I am talking about. Like prioritising tasks, working memory, switching attention between tasks and organisational and planning abilities. There is a lot more to it, but it's too dry and uninteresting to bang on about too much in this blog. The upshot of it is, as I heard author of The Complete Guide To Aspergers Syndrome, Prof Tony Attwood succinctly describe in an interview, a lot of us Aspies "Couldn't organise a piss-up in a Brewery."

 It's true. For me. I really can't.  And, I guess it just has to be okay. Sure, I don't want to fall into the trap of using my Aspergers as an excuse.  It doesn't mean that I can just throw my hands up in the air and say I give up, and we live in a feral pig-sty. Even though it seems like it on some days. It does mean that I accept that it won't be as perfect as I'd like. 

The fact that being an Aspie for me, means I crave order and routine in my environment and surroundings, while simultaneously being completely clueless about actually creating it for myself and my family, is just another one of those little tragic ironies of my life that I have to live with.

And the only other thing that I should do, is throw away that bloody Spotless book. See? I'm de-cluttering.

And then promptly stop using the word should.

Linking up with Kirsty from My Home Truths for I Must Confess.

Read More