As I sit here and write this I feel sad – a whole weekend wasted on arguments. I feel utterly exhausted and disheartened.
It’s been one of those weekends where everything and anything has irritated me, which then leads me to pick holes in absolutely everything.
Some Saturdays, in fact most Saturdays, I feel aggrieved when I look around and see nothing but washing, dust and dirty plates.
I develop this feeling of rage. Inside I scream: “I work six days a week and then I work all weekend as a cleaner!”
My husband Chris doesn’t know where the washing basket is, he thinks dropping a week’s worth of pants all over our bedroom floor is totally acceptable. I think otherwise.
Since buying our ‘doer upper’ as I like to call it, my OCD has reached new heights. The dust, the mess, the colour of the walls, the horrid bathrooms! I’m in interior hell and when facing the future all I can see is workmen, builders and painter and decorators.
Chris and I always argue about the same thing - housework, chores and jobs to do with family life. I think he doesn’t do enough and he thinks I pick at him all the time and nothing he does is good enough.
This weekend the ‘Kelly volcano’ erupted over him not doing the supermarket shop. I finished work at midday on Saturday and he hadn’t done it. He refuses to do it online, despite me begging him. “Think of all the time you will save,” says me. “Think of all the money we will waste; they charge for delivery you know,” says he.
I had a chat to a girlfriend of mine about it. She said: “Oh Kelly they’re all the same. Mine thinks a fairy comes and washes the dishes.”
I decide to do nothing this weekend - no washing, no cleaning, nothing. I render myself totally useless.
I think my newfound laziness makes Chris angry.
During some of our door-slamming, shouting-at-the-top-of-our-voices arguments he says: “You’ve done nothing this weekend.”
This gives me a real deep sense of satisfaction. “Take that!” I think to myself, “See how you like it.”
What rather alarmingly becomes apparent though is the fact that my husband does just get on with it. It seems he can manage perfectly without me – doing my daughter’s washing, hoovering and cleaning the kitchen.
He can manage without little old me but would I be able to manage without him? I know the answer to that - it’s a no, a big fat no.
He is my rock, my constant source of encouragement, strength and happiness.
Sunday comes and we are still arguing and I know I am being unreasonable about certain things. I know he tries his best and I know I’m an incredibly difficult woman to live with because I always give 100 per cent to everything and I expect everyone to be the same. Chris’s 100 per cent might not be up to my standards but he’s giving it his all.
I’m as a stubborn as a mule though and sorry isn’t a word I find easy to say to him.
My mind wanders to how maybe it’s not Chris but me who needs to change.
A mum whose daughter goes to the same nursery as Ava-Lilly was talking to me this week about letting the small things go. She said we spend too much time sweating the small things, like when the house is a mess or the bin needs emptying. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve had a meltdown because the bin bag has burst after repeatedly asking hubby to take it out.
As she talks to me about this I think to myself: “Yes, this is the woman I need to become, calm, collected, someone who doesn’t stress over a house that looks like it’s been burgled.”
I know it’s not such an easy concept as I’d like to think but I’m going to try, I’m going to try and not say anything as I pick up Chris’s pants up from the bedroom floor. I’m going to smile when I open the kitchen door and can’t see the worktops for dirty plates. I’m going to try and say nothing.
How long can I last? Your guess is as good as mine.
WHEN PARENTS ARE HOPELESS?
I couldn’t believe it when I read the headline ‘Michael Buble’s son is diagnosed with cancer’. A lump in my throat appeared and I couldn’t bring myself to click onto the link and read anymore.
Just a few weeks ago I was interviewing him and we were chatting about our kids. I said: “I’d die for my daughter” and he replied, “ Oh god yeah, they just change your life, they become everything.”
He was so lovely and it was very apparent his sons and wife were his absolute world.
There’s something about being a parent that changes you forever. When I was pregnant with Ava-Lilly, I was a newsreader at the time and I couldn’t bear reading about anything awful like war or murder.
It was like all my walls had shattered and I was this soft being, full of fluffiness and love.
My heart goes out to Michael Buble, and his family and I hope so much that his beautiful son Noah comes through the other side of this terrible disease.
I HOPE POPPY ENDURES FOR YEARS
So the Poppy has been causing controversy, making headlines, and dividing opinion. Really? What an earth is the world coming to?
I don’t believe in war, I hate watching the news and seeing the horrific scenes coming out of Syria. Sometimes I can’t sleep because my brain is trying to understand the logic of the terrible things that happen all across the world.
I have never thought whilst wearing my poppy that I’m endorsing a political or religious statement and I never will.
I wear my poppy with pride, I wear my poppy to remember those who gave their tomorrow for our today (My great, great grandfather was one of those). I wear my poppy to salute the brave servicemen and woman around the world who fight for freedom and peace.
It troubles me to read Fifa is trying to ban the poppy for the England and Scotland game. It troubles me that some feel we should get rid of the poppy and it should be forgotten.
The poppy isn’t something we should ever forget. It’s symbolizes the loss in war, the sadness, the tragedy of war, it does not endorse it. My three year old is wearing her poppy and yes I do try to explain to her what it means.
I hope so much the poppy is never forgotten and even in a 100 years time people will still be wearing one and honouring the ultimate sacrifice made by thousands of men and women everywhere.