When the government extended the lockdown this week we had an extra reason to be fed up: The announcement coincided with us finally running out of ways to put off some of the less appealing jobs around the house.
So yesterday, 28 days after we were confined indoors, we reluctantly turned our attention to the ‘Never Gonna Happen’ to do list that has been knocking about for a year or more.
The insides of the windows got a clean. (I occasionally find myself moaning that the bi-monthly window cleaner is rubbish because the glass is permanently smeary, but then I can’t explain why there are what look suspiciously like small handprints on the outside of the upstairs windows.)
Henry trundled round the house with a stepladder and a long duster and obliterated a lot of cobwebs - though obviously the stepladder held the main appeal of this job so I needed to follow behind and get rid of most of the actual cobwebs.
We went round the house and cleaned all the horizontal beading on the doors which were becoming grey with dirt and dust - I can’t recall who said we should paint all our woodwork satin instead of gloss but if I find them I won’t be responsible for my actions. It’s a filth magnet.
And, in what is a sure sign we are the ultimate procrastinators, Andy planed a couple of millimetres off the top of the kids’ bedroom door which has been sticking for four years. The number of children who’ve come round on playdates and got stuck in the bedroom - and duly panicked/nearly wet themselves - is embarrassing. So something that has annoyed us since we moved in was resolved in about 10 minutes.
Before the Coronavirus struck, and Andy was coming to the end of three months at home, he had earned the nickname Marie, as he had been systematically clearing out each room in the manner of Marie Kondo and her eternal quest for inner peace through rolled clothes and clear surfaces. If it wasn’t nailed down or in daily use it got put out for recycling or hidden in the attic.
(He also helpfully rearranged the kitchen cupboards which, as I’m sure anyone out there who does the majority of the cooking in their house can testify, is a tiny bit annoying.)
But over the last few weeks we’ve drifted into a way of life we’ve never got near in the 14 years we’ve lived together. With all of us at home together there’s no escaping the need to be domestically on top of things.
No longer do we let the day’s dirty dishes pile up to be done at 10pm - or more likely left till the next morning after we've wandered back into the kitchen en route to bed to be confronted with piles of mucky crockery and saucepans.
By doing my work outs in the hall or the playroom I find my face inches away from grubby carpets that I wouldn’t normally notice need a hoover, and as I am incapable of any sort of routine it can be weeks between vacuums in the normal course of things. (Judge me all you like.)
And now that we spend most of our days in the kitchen, I find a more urgent need to keep the surfaces reasonably tidy.
Which I think is the key to it. The saying ‘tidy house, tidy mind’ has never been more pertinent. At a time when we have control over absolutely nothing other than what goes on inside these four walls (and as regular readers will know, to pretend we have control even there is pushing it) it definitely helps the mental state to keep the place clean and tidy.
I’m discovering that coming downstairs to a clean kitchen in the morning sets the tone for the day, while retiring in the evening to a sofa that isn’t buried under a pile of clean laundry certainly aids the relaxing - and allows for guilt-free slobbing without one of us feeling the need to half-heartedly mutter “I should probably do the ironing” every 10 minutes.
And there is, of course, another benefit to completing jobs around the house. It’s a wonderful opportunity to avoid childcare while pretending you’re doing something useful and essential. At 5pm yesterday Andy went outside to “tidy away his tools”. Which took such a terrifyingly long time that it coincided with tea time AND bath time. So. Many. Tools.
(I should note that his mum thinks I’m mean to him on this blog. But no one wants to read about how helpful and agreeable someone else’s husband is. Needless to say, I am rather fond of him.)
So as the lockdown continues our house is getting progressively cleaner. We’re in the ideal position to have friends pop by unannounced or to host guests for a weekend without spending the preceding four hours tearing about shoving shoes into cupboards, pushing newspapers under the sofa, hoping against hope they don’t open the bathroom cupboard and praying they've been held up on the motorway.
The irony being that once we're in a position to open our doors again, normal service will have resumed and the place will, once more, be a complete dump.
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