She Who Laughs Last

The new compact fluorescent light bulbs in the living room are a big improvement. It is brighter and more like real daylight in here now. Even though I bought the 'soft white' bulbs before, the light still looked dingy and yellow and much too dim for this room. It was really depressing and this feels better. It seems that something funky is going on with the ceiling light fixture in the kitchen for right now, but I think I'm going to switch to the new fluorescent 'daylight' bulbs in the dining room and hallway, too.

I guess what got me going on the lighting and getting a cleaning lady is that a depressing environment only makes my situation worse. I really don't need it to be worse. Probably readers are sick of hearing me bitch that my family is too sloppy and dirty, but they ARE. I have tried many, many times over the years to get them to change their ways, but they have not. I have tried working myself to exhaustion to get things nice, hoping they would like it. And they DID like it. And they were still not inspired to pick up after themselves or help out. I couldn't even bribe them or pay them into taking an active interest. They just don't care enough about it to put in effort and then every time I fall down a rabbit hole or run into a really bad time, the house is destroyed by the time I pull out of it and then it takes days or weeks to put the place back together again. That is a very big misery for me. It really is and it's not right. Well, they might not NEED things to be clean, but I do. So, I have finally decided to get a cleaning lady.

But, Lynn! You don't even have a real job anymore and you have really big tuitions to pay. You have the children's orthodontist bills, your therapy costs and flaky tenants with money problems! How you gonna pay? Well, I'm glad you asked. My plan is to cut other services and cut entertainment and discretionary spending. No, these cuts will not affect me. I don't enjoy anything, remember? I live like a church mouse anyway. My family, though... They might notice a few changes. Like no Disney for Christmas, less movie theaters, less cable service and fewer and cheaper gadgets. They will hear the word 'no' more often. The very sensitive among them might even notice the temperature in the house changing a little bit if it comes to that. Too bad. I went to go pee a few minutes ago and I skidded on something. It was actual dirt, like actual soil from outdoors, on the bathroom floor. I went out to the living room and had to clean up piles of napkins and paper plates off the sofa so I could sit down. My husband even told one of the girls to empty the trash can in their bathroom yesterday and she answered, "Just let Mommy do it." Mommy is burned out. Mommy is going to leave cardboard boxes for the cleaning lady to fill with the crap people leave laying around and then store them in the garage with a date on them. When someone can't find their stuff, hopefully, they will be able to remember when they last saw it. Hopefully, they will remember this BEFORE the one month mark when I will put the cardboard box to the curb with the trash. What? Your COAT was in there? Well, let's head on down and get you a new one. It won't be from the mall, though. We're going to the thrift store, kids! Because I have to pay the cleaning lady.

Probably this sounds like a drastic solution, but I don't think so. I think it is a drastic SITUATION, though. I think it is drastic that if I fall down the hole, my family will go out and buy plastic silverware instead of wash the dishes. THAT is what I think is drastic. You know what else is drastic? It is drastic that I come out of the PTSD rabbit hole to a mess like that when I need comfort and I can't even make tea without cleaning the kitchen first. And I think it's drastic that the messiness triggers me. I was the oldest of six kids and my mother was not like me. She didn't encourage people to pick up after themselves and she never cleaned a goddamn thing. Nope. And she didn't think it was her responsibility to talk to her precious sons about their behavior indoors. Her kids and their messes were MY responsibility, even when I was much too small to be able to do anything near to what was needed. There were times I was not even allowed to do my homework because my parents made me clean the house instead. There were even times when they made me stay home from school to take care of small children and cook and clean. My own parents did that to me and then they would write a note to the school saying I had been sick and they told me that I'd better agree that I had been sick if anyone asked me. I was an indentured servant for them. I can't be that here, too. I can't do it anymore. I refuse. Bring on the thrift stores and the Beenie Weenies. I'm done.