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The sticky spot on my floor that is breaking my brain
Aug 28, 2010 What's Going On 6 Comments
Our floors downstairs have always been dirty. We don’t have this problem on the upper floors; sand comes in from our front entrance and dirt from the back, and I’d just sort of given in. I run my Swiffer WetJet over them occasionally, and we sweep frequently, but there’s just always been a dark dirty base on them that I’d never really tackled.
Then last weekend we had friends over for brunch, including an adorable toddler. We all had a great time (and the quiche was delicious), but I was mortified as his dad was getting him ready to leave, trying to brush the black off of his little feet. I’m used to it with my feet – dirt in your own house is somehow not as dirty as what you encounter in other places. But seeing it on his feet made my really embarrassed. Almost as soon as they’d left I started moving furniture. A round of sweeping and vacuuming and two passes with the Swiffer WetJet didn’t do it, so I got down on my hands and knees with a bucket of vinegar water and some rags and did what I should have done years ago.
Growing up I watched my own mother clean the floors this way. She was (and still is) meticulous, tireless and consistent. I always thought to myself, why doesn’t she use a mop or something easier? The answer, of course, was that nothing else does the job as well as a bucket, bruised knees, and effort.
Seven hours total it took. For one floor of our house, about 600 square feet when you take out the stairs and the counters and other areas covered by bookcases and appliances. My shoulders were killing me and my knees were aching. It’s not like I would have to do that all the time, that’s just what it took to get rid of years of construction dust and dirt and sand and spilled juice cups and dripped ice cream and ground-in crumbs. Now all I would have to do is maintain it.
So here I am, a week later, staring at a sticky spot on the floor the size of a dollar bill. And instead of just grabbing a sponge and wiping it up, every fiber in my being is telling me to get out the bucket and move the furniture. For one sticky spot. The rest of the floor is still amazingly clean. I was a total pain in the ass all week about our new no-shoe rule. All I need to do is wipe up that one spot and leave it. But I can’t.
I don’t know why my brain works like this. It’s perfectionism, self diagnosed from dozens of talk shows and internet sites. People hear the term “perfectionism” and think I must be someone who has a perfect house and perfect body and perfect life, or at least I’m working tirelessly towards those things, but that’s not how it works. It means that if I can’t make something perfect, then I simply don’t do it. It’s why I’m a control freak, why I have trouble delegating, why I’m overweight, and why my house is a mess.
And I feel like if I could just clean that sticky spot and move on, then I could also exercise on a Monday and not give up on the rest of the week after skipping Tuesday. That I could clean one small shelf when I have a spare fifteen minutes, instead of waiting until I have a free weekend to clean all of the shelves at once (a time that never seems to come). That I could let Fiona help me fold the mountain of clean laundry on our guest bed (she’s been begging!), even though she won’t do it “right.’ That I could pick up a couple pieces of trash from my sidewalk on my way in without waiting for a free morning to put on gardening gloves, grab a garbage bag, and do the whole block. There’s nothing wrong with cleaning all of my shelves or folding all of my laundry myself in one big marathon session or picking up all of the garbage, except that I never get around to it, and waiting to do big projects stops me from making a small dent.
The saying that has helped me the most in my life is this riddle: How do you eat an elephant? One small bite at a time. Occasionally I’m able to let that kind of thinking win, and get things done. But those times are infrequent, and I fall back into old habits quickly. If I could learn to take small bites consistently I could change my life. I’m going to start with that sticky spot.
Originally posted on Selfish Mom. All opinions expressed on this website come straight from Amy unless otherwise noted. Please visit Amy’s Full Disclosure page for more information. Amy also blogs at Filming In Brooklyn, Behind the Screen, Momtourage, and podcasts with The Blogging Angels.
How important is sleep for a mom? Just ask my crying daughter
Aug 26, 2010 Kids 3 Comments
I think this past week may have been my worst week of sleep ever. I’m talking in my whole life, excepting of course the months when I had newborns (there isn’t even a word for that kind of chronic exhaustion). In the past four nights I went to bed once at 4am, twice at 2, and once at midnight, and was awake around six each day. This would have been salvageable if I’d been able to just get the kids to school or camp and then go back to sleep, but this is a weird week.
Jake is going to a week of science camp that’s an hour away from us, and it’s only a half day (9-12). So, it makes absolutely no sense to drive out there, drop him off, drive home, and leave again in an hour. Instead, Fiona and I have been hanging out on Long Island and having some fun mommy-daughter time (pedicures, the mall, lunches, tennis, and one morning spent in the car that we’ll just skip over). That part’s been great, but by the time we all get home at one I’ve been absolutely exhausted. It doesn’t matter what I tell them, what I bribe them with, how much I yell or beg, they haven’t let me nap for more than an hour a day. So I’ve been exhausted, and digging myself in deeper with every late bedtime.
It all came to a head this evening. I was up on the third floor folding laundry and the kids were watching TV on the first floor. It was just about bedtime. There had been some stupid fighting at dinner, but other than that it had been a good day all around. Then I heard the screaming: blood-curdling screeches from Fiona that traveled up the stairs and in the windows on both sides of the house. I called on the intercom phone and yelled for Fiona to get upstairs.
I was tired. She was tired. They’d been fighting over the remote. She just needed to go to bed. But she felt the need to try to explain to me, over and over, why she was screaming (it was all Jake’s fault, of course, in her mind). And every time she tried to explain I tried to drill into her head that it just didn’t matter. That screaming was not the answer and not OK. We were both being incredibly stubborn and one of us needed to just back off, which is what I’m always telling them when they’re fighting. Someone just needed to be the hero and say “Fine. Let’s agree to disagree.” But being completely sleep-deprived I was unable to see it. I was completely unable to recognize that I just needed to give her a hug, tell her that we were both tired and tomorrow will be another day. That’s all I needed to do. So simple.
And yet I couldn’t. She kept making excuses for her behavior and I kept pushing back. I was on automatic. And eventually she was in tears and I was near my breaking point.
Sometimes I think I pride myself in my weird sleeping habits. I’m way more creative late at night, when the house is quiet and phones aren’t ringing and emails aren’t flying in every few minutes. And gee, look how busy I am. I’m so important to be up and tweeting in the middle of the night when all the lazy people are in bed. Wow, she’s so busy, when does she sleep?
I stay up until I get shit done. But at what cost? I know from experience that what I gain from plowing through work at 2am I lose again by having a disorganized day when I wake up after 4 hours of sleep. Even when I am free to nap, it’s just not the same as seven or eight solid hours. I know this. But I can never see it when I’m tired.
I think the answer may be tattooing some reminders on my arm, like in Memento. Something like “You’re an ineffective parent when you’re exhausted.” Or maybe more to the point: “Get more sleep or your children will grow up to be assholes who also hate you.”
Originally posted on Selfish Mom. All opinions expressed on this website come straight from Amy unless otherwise noted. Please visit Amy’s Full Disclosure page for more information. Amy also blogs at Filming In Brooklyn, Behind the Screen, Momtourage, and podcasts with The Blogging Angels.
Get your own pair of simulated diamond earrings, free!*
Aug 26, 2010 Product Giveaway, Sponsored Post 2 Comments
A new website called DiamondEarrings.org has an innovative promotion going on. They’re not selling anything yet, but are spreading the word about their site by giving away free pairs of simulated diamond earrings set in sterling silver, and will ship them anywhere in the continental U.S. It works like this:
1) Mention the site DiamondEarrings.org on twitter, facebook, myspace, or your own blog.
2) Go to DiamondEarrings.org and click on “Order Now” on the top right of the page.
3) Fill out the required information and pay for shipping, only $3.77.
4) Wait for your earrings to arrive!
That’s not all: I’m giving away three pairs of these simulated diamond earrings on my site, which will save you the shipping and handling costs!
To enter just leave a comment on this post before I close the comments around noon-ish on September 9th, 2010, and I’ll draw three winners via random.org. Only one entry per household please! To enter you have to live in the continental U.S., and you have to be at least 18 years old. For complete rules please see my Giveaway Rules Page.
Good luck, and go get your earrings!
Originally posted on Selfish Mom. All opinions expressed on this website come straight from Amy unless otherwise noted. This post has Compensation Levels of 9 & 11. Please visit Amy’s Full Disclosure page for more information. Amy also blogs at Filming In Brooklyn, Behind the Screen, Momtourage, and podcasts with The Blogging Angels.
* Just pay shipping and handling fees of $3.77
