Luky
THERE WAS A NOVENA PRAYER I used to recite in preparation for the Feast of St Joseph the Workman.
I remember one small part in particular: "to help to develop, by means of labour, the gifts received from God." This prayer meant a lot to me in my early years as wife and mother, as I was becoming engulfed.
When I decided to marry and have my own family, I bit off more than I could chew, though I had no idea of this. I had no experience, but possessed a tremendous amount self-confidence. After some years I had all the experience in the world, but no self-confidence.
Domesticity is alien to my nature. Not that I don't love a shiny kitchen, a cheerful blazing fire, snowy linen in the bedrooms and window handles that could be used for an advertisement by a metal polish manufacturer.
I grew up in a home which was so tidy that you could roller-skate from one end of it to the other. My mother believed that cleanliness was next to godliness and that an idle woman was an abomination before the Lord.
Old habits die hard, and there are times when I regarded Maison Whittle with a jaundiced eye and wished myself back home. No amount of vigilance or hard work could stand up to the inventiveness of my offspring when it came to making a mess.
Yech!
Take one morning, for example. A rubber doll belonging to the baby had been left outside too long and had begun to perish. Some joker filled it with water and, handling it like a lassoo, squirted some on to his big sister.
The perished part having turned a rusty shade made the water red too. We now had an extremely artistic-looking ceiling, a study in rust and white, as most of the water went upwards.
Henceforward I vowed I'd be terribly careful about perishing dolls - pardon the pun - but as the place had been painted only recently, I was faced with a choice: drop my standards even lower and laugh it off, or go out of my mind.
This brings me to the question: Just how low can one's standards be dropped?
It's not that I'm lazy. I bet I had some of the roughest hands in the Free State, but they just didn't move swiftly or dexterously enough to catch all those falling buttons before they dropped to the ground; and once a thing landed on my floors, someone swept it out.
Then the search for a matching button was on. When this was produced, we had to empty all the cupboards for a reel of cotton and a needle, although I bought these items by the dozen.
See-saw
I know what you're saying: "My dear, all you needed is just a little organization. Above all teach your children never to touch mother's belongings."
But while I was organizing one room my kids were disorganizing the rest of the house, and I couldn't lock a thing away because the locks were old and the cupboards wouldn't close properly. The only way for me to create order in the chaos was by cleaning at night and patrolling in the daytime. The trouble was I was so sleepy at night.
I just had to give my dwindling sense of humour full reign and rejoice in the fact that my children were healthy enough to make a mess.
Anyone courageous enough to visit me was offered the choice of rolling up her sleeves and cleaning up with me, or of feeling deliciously superior because her home was so much better run than mine.
A Workman's Prayer to St Joseph
http://www.prayerbook.com/Devotions/Joseph/sjworkmn.htm
With thanks to Prayer Book.com
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