Setting a higher standard for myself...

I found this poem (song?) in my blog investigational wanderings that I related to.  Kurt’s disdain –as well as my own- for my cleaning abilities, the borderline-unsanitary state of my house is so heart-breakingly frustrating.  These are the things, he would make it seem, that he would leave me for, that he “cannot deal with”.  That he claims he doesn’t see more effort in.  I work full-time, I am the mother of a two-year old.  I live with a paranoid-schizo control freak.  The home is what it is.  I hold this quip in my mind all the while striving to be better.

And –enter whiny, pleading, pathetic voice- I do strive.  I do! I just stayed up last night ‘til after 10 to finish cupcakes for Kara’s class Spring Party.

From the Seeing The Everyday blog:

Mother, oh Mother, come shake out your cloth
empty the dustpan, poison the moth,
hang out the washing and butter the bread,
sew on a button and make up a bed.
Where is the mother whose house is so shocking?
She’s up in the nursery, blissfully rocking.
Oh, I’ve grown shiftless as Little Boy Blue
( lullaby, rockaby, lullaby loo).
Dishes are waiting and bills are past due
( pat-a-cake, darling, and peek, peekaboo).
The shopping’s not done and there’s nothing for stew
and out in the yard there’s a hullabaloo
but I’m playing Kanga and this is my Roo.
Look! Aren’t her eyes the most wonderful hue?
( lullaby, rockaby, lullaby loo).
The cleaning and scrubbing will wait till tomorrow,
for children grow up, as 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, Lady’s Home Journal (1958