Update: After writing this last night, we experienced night/morning from hell. No sleep, messes all over the house (carrot juice, coffee), flat tire, the list goes on. I totally should blog about that, but not today. Today I’m going to stay under my rock. As you were.

A battle I face daily is how to get domestic crap done around the house. I seem to spend the majority of my time a) at work b) keeping children safe while they play or c) sacked out on the sofa with the computer. I realize that the latter is a bit indulgent. (It’s what I’m doing now, by the way.) But it also connects me – to the world, to friends (via FB and Twitter and email) and it’s the kind of time-wasting that one needs pretty regularly to relax.

So, when do I bake or sew or knit or clean? At the risk of sounding a wee bit old-fashioned, I actually like theseĀ  domestic activities. Well, except for cleaning. I don’t like cleaning. Even so, I agree that it’s a necessary evil and many times my house is a bit, er, filthier than even relaxed me is comfortable with.

I like to think of myself as a somewhat-inspired baker, though. I have long had big plans for sewing (and remember fondly putting my costuming skills to practical use as a theater major eons ago). I am a half-assed knitter and I’d love the chance to get better at it. I want to make homemade gifts for family members, bake my own bread, sew the girls Halloween costumes and at least put one project on Ravelry. I just can’t get the motivation to do these things, though, amid my current state of affairs. And I haven’t even touched on the cleaning. As much as I don’t like to clean, a clean house makes me feel calm. I imagine it will make the girls feel calm too – I certainly remember how the disarray and disorder of my childhood home (and the subsequent Mommy Dearest-inspired cleaning marathons) made things feel, well, churned up, if you will.

I just wonder if this will change. If so, how? Everyone tells me I’m in the thick of it, with a one year old and a nearly three year old. I’m in the thick of something, that’s for sure, but it’s hard to come up for air and imagine a life where I’ll have both time and energy for activities that seem like a far far distant dream right now. I just. can’t. see. it. Not right now.

I am so needed right now, by everyone. I shrug off official work because it is the only one I can shrug off. Yet, I desperately need the money it brings in. Egads. This is my current existential bane.

We can’t afford for me to stay home all the time and if Spring Break was any indication, that would simply leave me in a pool of drool anyway. Because I get that mamas need downtime. And if you could barely eke out an existence with one parent not working, how in the hell could you afford any downtime? No MDO, no babysitters – we’re talking bleak. If I could stay home while the kids were in daycare, I’d get loads of stuff done, but then I’d feel selfish and wasteful. And that kind of financial picture doesn’t exist for us right now, not while the man’s in school.

(Have I veered into whiny here? Forgive me. It happens. Far quicker than I intend. I start to hear this little annoying buzz in the back of my head and realize it’s me, whinging on. Again.)

So, buck up, right? Either let the house fall into hovel-status and forget any apron-clad dreams of making your own jelly or ignore the kids and bake and craft in blessed oblivion, assuming they wouldn’t make off with necessary supplies like yarn and feed your new bamboo knitting needles to the dog.

I want a reality in between. I want to feel like a person with a normal domestic life. Somehow, in the case of me, I feel that this helps me with the non-domestic stuff. I feel, I don’t know, fuller? Like somehow having the time to bake a pie satisfies a creative need in me that is not entirely unrelated to the novel I write in my head on a daily basis (the one that is slightly existent on google docs).

Let’s face it. One person can only take so much pretend play. Day after day of acting out the eating of invisible cupcakes coupled with my uninspiring career-ish worklife begins to make little streams of my brain leak out of my ears. I’m sure of it. I just want to make a goddamned loaf of homemade bread once in a while. Is that too much to ask?

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