I am not...

Susie Homemaker.

Not even close.

First, an apology... I realize I've neglected this blog. Not for intentional reasons. There must be half a dozen unfinished blogs in drafts as well as the uncounted ones bouncing around inside my brain. It's just that somewhere along the line I became unhappy with life and couldn't find the energy to try and be witty or entertaining. I was stuck professionally in a place that made me unhappy and frustrated for 2 years. So on my 28th birthday Husband and I decided that it was time for a change. A week ago last Friday I walked away from that job. I am now embracing unemployment. I feel free to be myself again and that's the most wonderful feeling in the world. 

Now on with the show.

After 3 days of sloth-like activity I attempted to put myself back in motion yesterday. It wasn't easy considering I'm pretty sure I was a sloth in a previous life and can be far too content to sit around reading books. One of the arrangements of me leaving the previous job was that I would assume full responsibility of cleaning the house and cooking meals. At the time I was desperate for a fresh start. Now I wonder if I was too hasty. 

Part of the horror of being a stay-at-home wife, for me, is having to face the big pile of neglect my house had become while I was gainfully employed. While working I did the bare minimum to get by (laundry) and let's be honest... Husband picked up a lot of the slack. I would sometimes get in these weird cleaning frenzies but they never lasted long and usually the house wound up more of a disaster then when I began. Therein lies the problem, once I start cleaning I become a disorganized scatter-brained freak. This time I swore things would be different. I would have a strategy. 

One big project a day. (Day 1 was cleaning the fridge and it was so traumatizing that I can't even begin to contemplate blogging about it)
Outside of my big projects I was trying to consciously make an effort to keep previously cleaned spaces maintained, which I have found harder to do the further I get in my efforts. 

As a side note... Husband is driving me crazy. I feel like I'm running around picking up after a toddler. He's more disorganized then me, which is saying something. Trying to keep the coffee table clean is battle. I have a folder full of papers and a box of junk that he needs to go through and he keeps just pushing them aside. Men.

Back to what I was saying...

When I was given permission to give my notice I felt this spark ignite inside me. The spark was this intense need to purge. I had 3 large boxes full and waiting for a local charity before I even left my job. After yet another round in the kitchen I have 3 more (smaller) boxes. While cleaning out shelves I found things I didn't even know we had, (a waffle iron, seriously?) and can only assume they were wedding gifts that we had no idea what to do with... 

I have taken 2 grocery bags full of books down to resell at a local bookstore. (It was nice to finally let go of books I had no intention of reading again, a lingering pack-rat tendency I suppose) (Never mind that I turned around to buy half a dozen more with the store credit I earned) (Or that I keep justifying the 15% off coupons B&N sends me)(It's small victories... right?)

Last night I found a box that among other things housed all my Sims 2 software. Once I fought off the urge to reinstall the whole series (I seriously had every expansion, stuff pack & game guide made), I listed everything on Amazon. While cathartic this adventure has made me remember just how much I hate the post office.

My relationship with cooking is a tenuous one. Sometimes I love it. Most days though I resent it. Why food can't magically cook itself is really beyond me. I'm pretty sure my life could be sustained on grilled cheese and nachos but Husband, as he tells me, has more diverse nutritional needs. (I think he just enjoys being difficult) I'm trying to expand my cooking abilities but it's slow going for now.
The whole peace agreement does hit a small snag though. I won't cook meat. He has, at least temporarily, agreed to handle cooking the meat as long as I do the rest. I seriously don't know what he thought was going to happen when he married a vegetarian. (On Thanksgiving I can't even be in the room while he preps the Turkey, the whole thing makes me gag) (And watching him de-skin chicken? Awful)

I guess my point is... I'm trying, and that has to count for something right?

Now it's time to take half of the small league of furry creatures in for their vaccinations. And then to contemplate tackling my bathroom. *shudder*