Discipline is freedom

It's a strange phenomenon, but I suspect it is fairly common and I suffer from it dreadfully. It really needs a name. It's the inability to adjust when you are hurtled from long phases of intensive parenting in to a period of (supposedly) blissful quiet. Many of us get it, and I know I am lucky to; it might be a few hours in the morning while the kids are at kindy, daytime naps or short evenings when the kids are asleep and you are not quite, an afternoon alone thanks to the grandparents, a quiet weekend day when Dad takes over, or many long days when the kids start school. Whatever it is, you are shot out like a cannonball from one world in to the other.

Getting to the heart of housework

I'd love to write an awesome, insightful, uplifting post, but I'm afraid I'm going to write about housekeeping instead. Housekeeping and a heavy heart and how the heck to combine the two.

Moving out, but not on

  

On December 10 we closed the door to our lovely but-getting-too-little home for the last time. It didn't matter, by then, whether we wanted to go or not, the train had already left the station. The house was sold, the truck had taken our boxes away and the house was bare - soon to be filled by a young couple who had fallen in love with it. I was ready for whatever will be next.

Finding a home. Finding your head.

What does one do when one doesn't have a house to tidy?

Write a blog post about it.

Our beloved little house has gone on the market today. I'm stepping off the cliff and hoping to land in a larger, sunnier, more-storage-space and with-a-garage home. I'm following the plan. Life has not gone to plan at all in recent years and this is one thing I am hanging on to - we always planned to move before Reuben started school (and before Esther needed a bed to fit in her bedroom), so move we shall. But enough about that, I need to talk to you about cleaning.