I have never once claimed to be a good housekeeper/cook/housewife/whatever you want to call it. In fact, when I met Mr. K I was very upfront with my lack of desire/ability to be a good housewife. I don't know what it is, but I think the House Gods hate me and today's events are a testament to that.
I woke up today with motivation to play Susie Home maker. I'm not saying anything against men or women who choose to do this; they are brave souls and stronger people than I. I started with turning the dish washer on and unloading it when it was done. This activity went fine and I really don't mind doing it. Everything sort of started going downhill from there. I went out to pick up poop and managed to get it smeared on my wrist somehow. I don't know about you, but picking up poop in 100 degree weather is bad enough, never mind smearing the hot, stinky stuff on yourself.
After poop pick up and washed hands/arms, I decided it was a good time to put a roast on in the crockpot. I usually love cooking with the crockpot since it is quite simple; or so I thought. I managed to get the roast in with my spices and liquid, but I haven't used it in so long I forgot how to turn it on. Not being able to read the buttons didn't help either. Mr. K was not available to turn it on, so I left the roast to sit in the juices until he returned and turned it on for me. Dinner is going to be much later than planned. Oh, did I mention that I broke the lid of the crockpot back in Novemberish so we have to cover the top with tin foil. That is a job in itself. Just know that it's not pretty-me, tin foil, wrestling...you get the point.
While my roast marinated, I hauled the laundry hamper out to our little laundry shed and whacked my elbow on the brick outer wall of our townhouse. I think the elbow is the worst place to hit off of things. After hopping around in pain for a minute, I made it to the shed only to discover that we hardly had enough soap left to do one load. I have enough laundry to do three or four loads. I put the one load on anyway and although the washing process went fine, when I went back out to check after it should have been dry, the whole load was still soaking wet. Apparently, I didn't set the dryer properly and thus I had wet clothes. Go me!
Back inside for me where I vaccuumed like a maniac. Even with only having the two dogs as opposed to five, a lot of fur accumulates. My first problem was that I couldn't get the vaccuum out of its upright and locked position. After ten minutes or so of fussing with it, it finally came unlocked and I was able to vaccuum. I can't tell you how many times I ran over my own foot or whacked my ankles with the heavy machine. And let me tell you, it would not matter if I could see: I am just clumsy. Somehow in the process of sucking up fur, I may have managed to suck up my Olympic ring from my first trip to the Paralympics. It was in my pocket and when I looked after my vigorous vaccuuming session, it was no longer there. I can't find it anywhere on the floor, but I'll have to wait and get someone else to check for it before I tear the vaccuum cleaner apart looking for it.
I amazingly got through cleaning the two bathrooms and kitchen without incident, but it was time to put the potatoes into the crockpot so they could cook. Oopsy number one occurred when I decided to chop the potatoes up on the counter instead of the chopping board I had gotten out and laid on the counter top. So much for my nice clean counter. I'm not sure what happened, but half way through cutting the second, large potato I realised that I was not using the chopping bard, but was hacking the starchy things up on my nice shiny counter. Getting the potatoes into the crockpot was fun too. I had to peel the tin foil back to get them in and I kept burning my fingers. Once I finally got the tin foil pulled away and started chucking potato pieces into the pot, it was apparent that I had torn my so carefully crafted fake lid. I got more tin foil out and did the best I could to seal the top of the crockpot so that the heat that is supposed to be cooking our dinner does not escape. More finger burning, more tin foil wrestling.
So, you see? I should not be left alone with a vaccuum cleaner, crockpot and a dryer for any length of time. I may have good intentions, but my results leave a bit to be desired. Put me on a bike and tell me to pedal for 45 minutes; give me a misbehaving dog; throw me in a pool and tell me to swim 2 kilometres; ask me to make you a necklace; babysit your dog for the weekend; but please don't ask me to be a housewife because I suck at it.
Maybe one day when I'm rich and famous, I will buy a crockpot with a lid. Actually, scratch that: I'll just hire someone to cook/clean for us. No more finger burning, ankle slamming, elbow whacking. Well, perhaps no more elbow whacking is wishful thinking: I don't think hiring someone to be our chef will fix my clumsiness. :)