I’ve been thinking about hand preferences a lot lately. As I try to puzzle out Nicholas’s hand preference, and as I watch Alex at baseball, I am reminded that I am a weirdo: left handed, but not exactly, because the only thing I do left handed is write. Well, that’s not exactly true; I can bowl with either hand (I can never decide which one works better–I’m wretched either way). But in any case, I do everything else like all you right-handers out there.
So, because I’m feeling really uninspired today (I’ve already discarded two post topics), and because my kids are already awake upstairs, I give you this repost, neither weighty nor poignant–simply a laugh. (I hope.)
(Note: if you look up “left hand” on Picapp, you get pictures of amputated limbs. Aren’t you glad I didn’t choose one of them?)
***
“Cleaning and scrubbing can wait for tomorrow,
For babies grow up, I’ve learned, to my sorrow.
So quiet down, cobwebs. Dust, go to sleep.
I’m rocking my baby, and babies don’t keep.”
(Ruth Hulburt Hamilton)
When she’s at home, my mother-in-law is a consummate housekeepr. Her trash cans are emptied daily (at least), her dishes are washed, dried and put away after each meal, and each night she straightens whatever mess her kids, grandkids, husband and in-laws have left.
My cousin Becky managed to design and build a house and parent two elementary age boys while living in a two-car garage for a year. She’s organized, calm, and her boys are well-behaved, all-around good kids.
My friend Tricia designs a summer-long program of chores, activities and recreation, down to daily menus for a balanced diet.
And then there’s me.
My laundry grinds to a halt mid-cycle and lays in piles of madness that grow every time I throw a dirty bib up the stairs.
I stick up my nose every Thursday, thinking, Aw man, it’s been a week already since I cleaned the house?
The dishes get washed at least every third day. But not necessarily put away.
And last week I took the kids up to the farm for a daylong outing, and I left the diaper bag at home.
My friend Jim chuckled when I related that. Then he quickly curbed it. “Well,” he said graciously, “you’re one of those creative right-brained people.”
Scatterbrained is more like it. And the more I think about it, the more I think he’s right—only there’s more to it than that. I’m scatterbrained because my attention is split in too many directions. School liturgies. Weekend liturgies. Music projects for publishers. New music projects. Novels. Short stories. Articles. Reading about writing. Reading in general. The kids. NFP recertification.
Oh yeah, don’t forget the housework.
Last weekend the readings at church said, “From those given much, much will be expected.” I guess that’s me. I just wish part of the bequest had been a brain capable of keeping it all straight.
Kathleen M. Basi 
Thanks for not posting those pictures!
I suffer a similar condition (without the creative genius) but at least half of mine is simply because I do not care. I *could* keep the apartment in close to perfect condition (with a lot less housework than I did at 14!) but I can also spend my time thinking about other things. Why vacuum twice a week when I can still get away with doing it once?
Some women take great pleasure in keeping the perfect house. And that’s great for them. But I don’t see why you should feel a need to measure up to someone else’s standards for laundry as long as your house is clean enough to be safe for your children and you’re getting other (better?) things done with your time.
As for forgetting diaper bags, isn’t there something called “mommy brain” that makes every mother do things like that once in a while?
I just try to tell myself there is a “season for everything”, and right now (with small children) it is not my season to keep a perfect house, or have a big garden, or sew or anything else. This is all I can do right now, so I just concentrate on doing it well.
I’m selling my house and I kept freaking out about it being messy if people came over and then I just figured you know what, it is what it is. I have a two year old and I don’t want to kill ourselves and ruin our joy in life by making sure its spotless. so its organized but messy and I’m ok with that.