67. Doing the housework: the mother (3/6)
Readers, have you been wondering about my health? Have you been tortured by images of someone lying on a hospital bed, a cartoon-like character covered in bandages, with only the right index finger popping out of the bandages to feebly type one letter at a time on a laptop stringed to the pulley system of my broken legs?
No, you haven't. At the other end of this blog I am probably barely human to you but I am a human being. Made of flesh and - breakable - bones.
But you do not need to worry any more. I am fine. A couple of bruises and a cut on my pinkie. I had to rummage around the first-aid box, searching for the anti-septic (the one that doesn't make children howl because it stings), the aloe vera gel and the plasters. And I was good to go. Yet it did dampen my motivation a little and the clear-up suffered. The top landing is now cluttered and it is hard to make my way to the bedrooms. My daughters are coming home this weekend and I am going to have to do something about it. The place is not picture ready.
I am getting attached to this silly little blog and I was worried you'd soon declare me dead and move on to an other blog. So I heaved my sore body and ignored the terrible pains just in the pursuit of my 'art'. I do think indeed my head must have hit that brick wall after all.
As I lay there on the carpet (thank god we carpeted here), I thought:
'Don't move. Just wait. Stay there and take it one muscle, one bone at a time.
I walked slowly to the window at the front of the house. I discovered that I could spy on a different neighbour from up here. It was far less dangerous as no risk to fall out of this high window. I felt better already. This neighbour was - wait till you hear this - cleaning the pavement outside her house.
I felt shameful. What kind of good citizen was I? Oiling mechanisms of for the smooth opening of my own windows and doors without even considering the outside of my house? Without taking into account what the neighbours could see? I should have started this project from the outside! It was I taught my kids too: others first, you last. To be honest the urge to teach them this was usually a desperate way to stop the fight over chocolate biscuits. Still, I should be out there cleaning the pavement! I added 'street' to my list. A bit like the reading list for my son, this list seemed to grow as I ticked off items on it. It was not supposed to belike that.
On top of being a bad mother, a bad teacher, a bad housewife, I realised I was a bad citizen!
Thank god it was approaching lunch time. a glass of chilled dry white wine would soothe me. I sat down enjoying the chilled beverage, I typed 'fringed leather jacket' on Google.
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