Did you get home tonight and dinner was made but the kitchen looked like an explosion at a pie factory?
Did someone proudly tell you that they’d “done all the washing” and now there are mountains of subtly pink clothes blocking all doorways, silently begging you to fold them?
Is the baby bathed and dressed but apparently wearing a pyjama top, a tutu and a ski-mask for a morning at the shops?
Yes? Well, breathe through it. There’s a lot going on. There always is.
LISTEN: Gemma Hartley explains the concept of emotional labour to Mia Freedman on the No Filter podcast…
It feels like your plate is always full. So full the pad Thai’s leaked over the sides and is all over your skirt and filling up your sandals.
Maybe you tried to get up to exercise this morning – because exercise is good for body and mind, everyone says so – but your shift started early because your work-wife was taking her mum to radiation and you said you’d cover for her. But Tuesdays is also before-school band practice, so you had to arrange for your next-door neighbour to pick up your oldest and drop them off so your partner wouldn’t be late for work.
Their boss gets very cranky if they’re late for work. So does yours, but apparently we can all live with that.
Maybe you also packed lunches this morning for all the people who live in your house because the kids will eat it if you do it because you know exactly the right butter-to-Vegemite ratio they’ll accept on an edible sandwich.
Maybe you also remembered that the dog needed his flea collar changed. And that the car was flashing at you about petrol last night on the way back from soccer, so you’d better text to remind your partner to fill-up before they get on the highway. Disaster averted.
Then there’s dinner for tonight and it can’t be spaghetti again because your oldest has decided she’s vegetarian this week and you want to support her individuality but really it is quite the pain, and there’s that house inspection on Saturday morning and you’ve got to do something about that stain on the carpet in the back room and it’s choir tonight and dentist tomorrow and your friend Sally’s birthday on Sunday and you said you’d be the one to buy the present this time. Oh shit, and book the lunch place.
And all you’d like is to sit down in a nice clean house and have a glass of wine/cup of tea/cheese plate/chocolate bar/some green smoothie shit but although dinner got made, the dishes were only half-done. And there’s a lone blue cloth sitting in the centre of the bottom of the kitchen sink and it might just be the dishcloth of your undoing because what kind of world is this if it’s too hard to squeeze out a dishcloth.