Showing posts with label neatness. Show all posts
Showing posts with label neatness. Show all posts

Wednesday, October 24, 2012

We live on Weird Street

I am tired of talking about me so this is, quite plainly, a post about other people. And why not start close to home ...

It occurred to me when I was driving down our street some years ago, that almost everyone that lives here is weird in some way (except, of course, the darling people at number 67). In a nutshell, I believe that most of the residents that have chosen to live on this hilly beach side street, have been afflicted with varying degrees of OCD or just general weirdness, with regard to their property and behaviour.


It all starts with Number One and that would be where my parents-in-law live. I shall spare them from this post but they clearly fit into the category of weirdness that our street is all about. In fact, they can probably tick more boxes than most when it comes to strangeness.

And obviously, our house has its own multiple dose of OCD that has been talked about on here before, however, I would like to highlight some other goings on just to make me feel normal. I shall start by saying that nothing below has been embellished or exaggerated in any way. And of course no names have been mentioned.


Case #1
Last year the next door neighbour, putting himself at the huge risk of falling off a very high ladder, awkwardly proceeded to paint his already [professionally] painted roof alcove a lighter shade of cream, because—and I quote: "It wasn't the right shade of cream". Apparently there are Fifty Shades of Cream. However, it looks exactly as it did before. He almost dislocated a shoulder doing this.


Case #2
The man across the road took 15 years to build his carport. I even saw the start of it in 1996. We call it the Taj Mahal. If I was going to be slightly unkind, I might even suggest that it does not match the house at all, but who am I to comment on modern architecture. As if this wasn't enough weirdness in itself, he wrote down how much it all cost {OK, not very weird}, but he rounded everything to the nearest 5 cents {somewhat weird}. I know this for a fact because he told HM that the Taj Mahal carport cost somewhere in the vicinity of $19,875.45. He made a point of saying he rounded it off to the nearest 5 cents. Who does that? Then, after completing this mammoth 15 years of hard labour, he and his wife put the house on the market!! They weren't even planning on enjoying their Taj Mahal.

On hearing this, I looked the house up on the net to see what they were offering and the real estate agent had the AUDACITY to write on the ad: RENOVATE OR DETONATE! The Taj Mahal builder must have been horrified at the suggestion of demolishing his very hard-laboured carport. I suspect he took it off the market then and there as it would now appear that they no longer seem to be selling.


Case #3
The man next door to the Taj Mahal washes his 4WD every day. He was even seen washing it on Christmas Day. He also has labels on everything inside his house. Labels about the channels on the remotes, instruction labels for how to use the DVD player, kettle, microwave, oven, etc. I know this for a fact because we grabbed one of the tellies he put out on the bulk rubbish collection one year and he took me inside to hunt down the clearly labelled remote that was inside a clearly labelled cupboard. AND I mean, labelled as in providing a little mini-inventory of what was inside the cupboard.
Interestingly, this man has four sons and every single one of them is a commercial pilot.


Case #4
The lady across the road, on the other side of the Taj Mahal, once purchased an old typewriter from HM when he had a garage sale many years ago. It was a medieval early-electronic typewriter—a collector's item if you will. He sold it to her for the princely sum of $5. A mere two days later, she was on the doorstep, somewhat aggrieved and demanding her money back (as in a full refund of the $5) as one of the keys did not work. The thing was ANCIENT.

To this day she often gives HM the evil eye, like he is some kind of neighbourhood con-man cheating her out of her life savings, last seen jumping a fence on A Current Affair.

Case #5
On the corner there is a mad scientist type who is ALWAYS hammering and banging away in his caravan, even late at night. He has four grown up children who still live at home. They are all around 30 and each of them has a partner. At any one time, there are about six cars out the front and it looks like all of them are there for dinner. It's kind of like the Brady Bunch with randoms—as in the kids bought in the other kids to create a blended family. It's one person short of a commune. When Hammerhead and Barnstormer hit 30 they are out of here, if not WELL BEFORE. I mean, HM will be 85 by then! We will want some peace and quiet in our old age.


Case #6
There is a man over the hill who never, EVER opens his roller shutters in the front rooms and has bricked in some of the other windows. He's been living there for at least 45 years (HM grew up on this street and has never seen the shutters open). His house has ocean views and is probably worth a fortune, but the living room carpet never sees the light of day. I'm thinking someone has got some serious drug lab stuff going on OR they have that weird anti-sunlight disease—like the kids in The Others. I hope one day they don't find something horrible inside.

Case #7
Next door to the house-of-darkness lives a nice man who waters/mows his lawn ALL DAY. He used to have the best piece of lawn on the street until the people on the other side of him built a new house and installed AstroTurf. His world turned upside down that day.

Case #8
There is an elderly lady down the hill a bit, in a very large expensive house, who for some reason dresses like a homeless person. She is often seen walking home from the shops with grocery bags way after dark. A very safe time for an elderly lady to walk a kilometre to the shops and back. And she has a very nice car which I have seen her drive many times. And plenty of hours during the day to drive to the shop.


OK, I'm leaving it here. There is more but that's quite enough I feel. Do you have a strange street? Surely our street can't be alone.

Monday, June 18, 2012

Mess

Ok, the weekend is over. Thank goodness. Much as I love quality family time, it usually involves the house being in a perpetual state of mess. I seem to be able to tolerate mess a whole lot better that I used to. In fact, I can quite comfortably lounge around in it without feeling the need to straighten a floor rug or get the vacuum cleaner out when someone eats a toasted sandwich in the lounge room. I can even withstand a box of lego scattered all over the floor that someone has long since stopped playing with. Gone are the days where I would sweep the floor ten times and have the house looking spotless JUST IN CASE there was a random drop-in. Actually, that was never really the reason, the reason was I just simply could not stand to see mess and disarray. Could.Not.Stand.It. I had an anxious feeling that something bad would happen.

Ten years ago this sort of thing would have almost sent me over the edge. A phonecall would have been made.
It began in the late nineties and continued through to the early noughties. I went through an obsessive period where I couldn't handle a jumper being thrown casually over a lounge. I could not EVER stand to see one dirty cup near a sink. I had to wash it. The sink had to be clear of all dirty dishes ALWAYS. I hated when people moved my books in my book case. I had them in alphabetical order. I would break out in a sweat if someone turned over a corner of a floor mat, and I would have to sit and fight with myself not to get up and turn it back. I had to touch wood every time I thought of something bad happening--to the point where I nearly had a serious accident trying to touch wood while driving. I couldn't stand to see one item of washing in the washing basket. I would go and hunt down enough dirty towels, sheets and socks to justify a wash. I could not handle a dirty mark on a shirt. I would not even attempt to sponge it off, it would have to be machine washed or dry cleaned. I couldn't handle a wet bath mat. It had to be dry every single moment and if it wasn't it would have to be put on the line until it was. I could not stand to see a crooked picture. I couldn't walk on cracks in the footpath. All of the cups had to have the handles facing the same way in the cupboard. My wardrobe--which was a pole suspended from the roof--was colour coded. It was like a rainbow of colour.


Most people just thought I was neat. They had no idea of the anxiety behind it. I had a friend who would come over and challenge the neatness by randomly upending rug corners and making my pictures crooked when I was out of the room. I once made all of my girlfriends help me clean the apartment after a cocktail soiree before we headed off into the night. There was absolutely no way I could come home to mess. It wasn't just at home either, if I went to someone's house and they had a sink full of dishes, I would get up and do them and I would take great enjoyment in this act. You people know who you are and it will never happen again.

This obsessive period ended, somewhat abruptly, when Hammerhead was born. We came home from the hospital with our darling boy and I spent three hours cleaning the house. I was trying to prove that I could keep a clean house and a baby at the same time. I should have been cuddling the baby. I should have at least been attempting to sleep. I then spent the next few days changing my shirt every single time I got spewed on. Hammerhead was a serious vomiter. I soon ran out of clothes and it was winter which meant that drying the washed clothes was virtually impossible in the timeframe I needed them. I became extremely upset and anxious about this and very depressed. I needed help.

My wonderful obstetrician and the extremely patient HM steered me in the right direction. I embarked on a course of cognitive behaviour therapy over a period of twelve months, directed by a fantastic psych. She did such a number on me that I now simply ignore mess and even help create it. Now, I don't care if people come over and I haven't vacuumed. I don't care if there are dishes in the sink overnight or, heaven forbid, when people visit. I don't care if the baskets of unfolded washing are in full view. Actually I DO CARE, I just don't have the compulsion to worry about it or worse, get up and sort it right then and there.

I am not completely cured either. I still have remnants of the old behaviours. For instance, HM cannot stand the way the kitchen table is constantly being wiped down--sometimes I lift up his cereal bowl while he is mid-spoonful to do this. I also don't think he comprehends my need to whip off the kids clothes the minute they dirty them and put clean ones on. He endures movie after movie where I sit there constantly spotting continuity errors rather than focusing on the plot of the movie we are watching. He does not understand how this makes me almost as excited as he gets when watching an AFL grand final with his team in it.

I also have a new set of compulsions that have replaced the old ones. Now OCD means Obsessive Computer Disorder. My folders and documents are always neat and ordered. My desktop is clean. It is something that I can control and that no-one else can touch! I am a squeaky-clean geek.

I still dream of a real world of clean surfaces and spotless floors. But it's never going to happen in our house. At least not for another 20 years. And I have realised that I can live with that. I think.

Friday, June 1, 2012

The first post

Well, I always said I didn't have time to be a mummy blogger. I don't really have the time to even be a mummy. But I've been realising I need to write. I've also been inspired by the plethora of good quality inappropriate blogs out there. I don't know how often I'll get to write and I don't even know what I will focus on. I live with a surfer, am a mummy of two and stepmum of a teenager who I love as my own. I work from home (at all hours!) so I can ferry the darlings here and there. But mostly I make the man drive them around.

Other things about me in no particular order:
  • I didn't think I would have kids but I ended up sneaking in there just before the biological time bomb went off. I am glad I did. I love the little peeps.
  • I have hypermobility and also Ehlers Danlos syndrome. I can do crazy things with my fingers but it's not all fun and games.
  • I am not very good with toddlers, better with older kids.
  • My kids have just ended the toddler phase (see above!) Aged 4 and 5. Most people think they are twins. They are called Barnstormer (a wise girl of 4) and Hammerhead (my big boy of 5). They have a big brother known as The Surfer (boy 15). He is famous to many people. He is my fake son and I love him like my own.
  • My man, who I shall call Handsome Man (HM for short), is 11 years older than me and I love him as much now as I did at the beginning. I cherish the fact that my kids have him for a father. We have known each other for more than 25 years.
  • I get on really well with The Surfer's mother. It's all good.
  • I do a load of washing every single day. Sometimes more. It's like how some people can't do anything until they have a coffee or a cigarette. I can't be calm until the washing is on.
  • I like things to be clean and tidy.
  • My house usually looks like we have just been burgled by people searching for something specific.
  • I have learned to live with mess. But I still hate it.
  • I am on Pristiq ... for now. I am usually happy but the black dog follows me around and really barks a lot. I struggle with it. It has been appearing since at least 1998 but I could even say it was around in 1983.
  • I have written over 100 educational books that are sold nationally and internationally. 
  • I was crap at breastfeeding.
  • My life has had a number of very distinct and different stages that ususally last around ten years. I am hoping my current stage lasts longer.
  • My best friends are the girls I've known since school. My best friend forever has known me since Year One.
  • Thanks for stopping by to my girl-cave on the web.