Sunday…The Done Day Wonder.

Its a usual Saturday at mango meadows. It looks like only the women are working.  a Batchelor or two who came in more to discuss their post lunch week end plans than actually working.  

I actually felt normal, about the fact that there were other women like me who hung on to Saturday for dear life. Since the day that followed was Sunday… can kill you if done properly.

Why you ask… well dear Sunday is the day of rest…

…rest of laundry

…rest of cleaning

…rest of shopping

…. rest of ironing

…. rest of all undone during the week.

Chits dreads the Sunday her husband volunteers to make breakfast… for it means more dishes to do, not mention breakfast at 11 am, so all the medication schedule gone haywire, but nobody wants brunch, instead lunch gets shifted to 2.30 while the rest of the house is lounge Chits has to roll roti’s in the humid heat.

Chats finds it even more frustrating, that every one seems to agree to a crockpot where all the left overs are dumped and what ever extra volume required in added on and ‘cooker mein teen seeti’

These are days all of wished were church going Catholics, since traditionally after church one had breakfast outside, specially when Hotel Diana was situated there but now Udupi has changed too.

Sunday should be about lying on the sofa and not sweeping under it!!

Chits is learning, too, up with lark, dosa batter on the kitchen counter, the chutney is out, when you choose to have breakfast make your own dosa, you can customize it with seasoned potatoes, or just eat it with chutney. The dishwasher is kept open when you are done put your plate in the washer.

Chats, has yet to find her way out of the left-over crockpot.

As for me…I’m slowly evolving, I no more use Sunday to catch up with household chores, I cleanse my habitat, I declutter it and battle the dust bunnies.

I’ve also gradually begun to realize that the ‘home’ I thought I created where my children and husband were comfortable, cared for and rested…was but a figment of my imagination, and all that is left behind is an unthanked, unloved, exhausted woman. The of generosity which energized the ‘home’ vision has dried. After all what does the mother do? Cook… clean… mop… and if one was inefficient enough like me someone would take care of the grocery.  

The ultimate epiphany is the sofa is meant to lie on and not clean under. If things don’t move, multiply or block the refrigerator then let it be. In any case after the first four years dirt isn’t going to get any worse.

Housework does not kill but risk it?

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