Friday, August 23, 2013

Happy Friday!

The part of yesterday's Thursday Post will be played by Friday today, due to long winded scout masters. (Both the Boy and Daddy are SOOO excited!)

So with cleaning:

And being a Mom:

And a wife:

Oh, and cooking:

And crafting:

Sometimes I get a little bit busy. Now, on top of that, there's School, Scouts, and hey, sometimes I like to have some down time too! Oh, and also I have a cold. So, yeah, yesterday's post is late.

Anyway, I promise next week I'll post something more about my cooking, but I wanted to write this week about two main things. The first is why I use the term "housewyf" as opposed to "housewife." The reasoning behind this is literally Medieval. You see, back in the middle ages, wives may have been property without a lot of rights, it was also their job to manage the household, manage the finances, AND manage to hold society together by their apron strings. The men went off hunting, fighting, whatever men do when we're not around (I assume it involves bodily noises and peeing on things), and we were at home with far more power than most people think. Far from a shrinking violet, the average peasant farmer's wife was to be loved AND feared.

The other thing I wanted to write about is how I feel when working out of a clean house on other projects. I thought of it in terms of a story. (Beware before reading that this will give you an idea of how my crazy brain works.)

Once upon a time, there was this little house by a river. Over time the house became untidy, the dirty, then crazy, and as if by magic, the river beside the house became dammed upstream. First only a little, and the water still flowed, then more, and the flow slowed down to the size of a stream, then a Hoover-like dam was built and the flow slowed to a bare trickle. The owner of the house began to become preoccupied by the water that came out of the tap, or the flavored juices and sodas she could buy at the store.

Then one day, she decided to clean up a bit. A crack appeared in the dam, but no water came out. She cleaned up more and even more cracks appeared.  Then she worked very hard to make her house not just liveably clean, but just shy of company clean. The dam burst open. There was no more water, however. It had magically been changed to ten trillion gallons of fornicating monkeys with Attention Deficit Disorder who all needed her attention IMMEDIATELY, when they were not fornicating to make even MORE monkeys.

This is how my creativity has flowed. When I keep my house clean, it flows like a river, constant and easy to manage, occasionally flooding when something piques my interest. When my work area becomes messy, that flow gets blocked, and only after I clean it up again does it come back, not as water that would flow away, but as "creativity monkeys." My friends refer often to "Plot Bunnies" because they seem to reproduce rapidly (rabbidly? rabbitly!) but I have found that once creativity has sparked, it often requires my attention like a small monkey clinging to my head and screaming at everything, hence "Plot Monkeys" (or creativity monkeys for those who are not specifically writers). Normally, in my brain, I can keep these in their little boxes on a shelf, but when they need attention, they hop right onto my head and don't let go usually until I give it to them.

Thus, I have found that whenever I have become creatively blocked it's better to start cleaning up immediately, because if the dam should get too big, the break will be... epic.

Now, alas, I have become lagged a bit in keeping my house, as I am a real life person and not Suzie Homemaker, so I'd better get back to it. Also: Floors are Friday.

I want to add a note as a previous posting of my cleaning supplies caused a bit of a flap dealing with storage. My son can read and has been drinking out of big boy cups for two years, I have labelled the cups that have borax and baking soda, and I keep them under the sink or in the laundry room. Without a toddler roaming around, this is plenty of safety for me. In the event that there IS a toddler in my house, cleaning supplies, even salad-strength vinegar, are placed into a toddler-proof area, whether that includes locked cabinet or simply a high shelf behind a closed door, rather than arranged artfully on my nice table.