to put it mildly
even after this morning's BT fiasco, I thought things were going slightly better
I went over to the children's new home this afternoon, where XCH is installed with a part-time daily nanny. . .
all the plants in my beautiful courtyard garden are dead - noone watered them during the dryer times of the summer, noone has trimmed the dead stalks, or thrown the dead plants out, the courtyard is full of dead leaves. . .
noone changes the cat litter, the house stinks of cats' piss and nobody even opens a window to let some fresh air in. . .
the children haven't eaten a piece of fruit or a vegetable in g*d (or any other deity you care to choose) knows how long. . .
the kitchen bin was overflowing, the recycling bag was full to the brim (once The Nanny had put the pizza boxes in it) (hey! she understands the concept of putting pizza boxes in the recycling bag. . . shame about the rest of the recycling, which was flowing out of the bin). . .
she's been with them since I went into hospital, but has never yet stepped foot on the third floor (where the boy's bedroom are tucked into what would have been the attic space). . . The Teen's room is a hovel - and I know what a teen's room is supposed to look like, but this was way beyond compare (he had, however, hung up the Banksy canvas I gave him for his birthday); Middle One's room was a hovel. . .
The Nanny knows how to fill a dishwasher, but not empty it; she doesn't know how to work the washing machine (she told XCH it was broken because it was always full of water, but I worked out that that was because she had the "rinse hold" button on) (now, as you know I can't even work a tv or a dvd player, so I can't criticize too much, can I?); she pointed out that the cats were out of fresh litter (but hadn't actually done anything about buying some more); apparently she used the car the other day, but it had practically run out of petrol by the time she came home she said (the journey she was on took her past the petrol station twice). . .
I'm trying really hard not to vent displaced anger in The Nanny's direction - but it was awful when XCH came home after his boys' night out (she'd left at seven, so I stayed to babysit M-T and MO, as The Teen - who I had been told was "in charge" tonight, as I'm still really not supposed to be alone with the children - announced he was going out, shortly after XCH left, but before she did) and I pointed out to XCH that if I hadn't turned up with some groceries (not a plan, just coincidence) the children would have had nothing for breakfast tomorrow. . .
. . .the cupboards are bare. . .
I gently took the opportunity to advise XCH that if The Nanny can fill a dishwasher perhaps she could empty it as well - instead of spending three hours (four till seven) sitting on the sofa reading a celebrity magazine (she did take a break to order the children pizzas, since she never got around to cooking them, sorry warming up, the ready-roasted roast chicken drumsticks that she had bought for their tea) (she hadn't bought vegetables tho. . .). . .
and tomorrow morning he has two loads of washing to sort out (darks and whites were overflowing the laundry basket, which everyone kept tripping up on as it was in the middle of the kitchen), some beds to make, a spot of hoovering and the grocery shopping for the weekend to do (oh, and don't forget the cat litter while you're at it). . .
it's supposed to be my house, my home, they are my children; I know I don't live there with them, right now. . .
(apologies to malc's pigs)
I cried, quietly, out the back, while Mini-Teen and Middle One were watching South Park
I KNOW can't be in that house on my own every weekend
when I go back there to live permanently,
and the children go to XCH's
(wherever he ends up living)
I can't stay here, in his swanky apartment,
twiddling my thumbs and going to art classes,
while my children live like animals
apart from to delicately point out (without being thought of as a "nag", "his mother", a "moaner") that the woman he is paying to tend house and home and children, sits reading celebrity magazines - while the basic household chores that anyone with any level of initiative might get their head around doing, are left for him to do at the weekend and perhaps this is not the best arrangement of her time and his money and their division of labour. . .
altho, that I have to say, should be the least on my concerns
- her time, his money and their labour -
but it affects MY CHILDREN;
I've got enough on my plate to deal with
(so why am I letting those other things distract me then?
this is my current failing)
(or is it?
it affects the three most important people in my life. . .)
the highlight of the evening was just before I left - XCH and I put the rubbish out together; a wry smile came to my face: the arguments we used to have when we lived in The Big House in The Village about who should put the rubbish out! it was the only chore I asked him to do - I was the ultimate housewife, you see, I might not have been a very good wife, but I was an excellent housewife. . .
. . .and putting the rubbish out (not even emptying the kitchen bin - I mean moving the dustbin outside from one side of a gate to another, once a week) was the only thing I asked of him in the house/home department. . .
he took my point about The Nanny, he's going to speak to her apparently
not under my control
so why am I so upset?
the only thing is - this isn't the first time I've been over. . . I've been before, when The Nanny was there, and also when she wasn't but XCH was home
it's not about my presence in the house when she's there - I know that much
I've spent hours doing laundry, then putting another wash on because there were still dirty clothes filling the laundry hamper, folding and putting away clothes, picking up boys' stuff and putting it away where it should be, cleaning the cooker and the sink, throwing out the out-of-date food from the fridge and the mouldy bread from the bread crock, filling and emptying the dishwasher, sweeping and tidying, putting rubbish in bins and full bin-bags outside. . .
I don't mind this, I am their mother, I am (or should be) a housewife
The Nanny was the one who was supposed to sew on the school uniform labels for Mini-Teen - but she told XCH she "didn't know how to sew very well". . . I didn't mind doing that - it makes me feel bonded to M-T in a strange little way. . .
and XCH said he'd talk to her on the other occasions that I gently, but constructively, pointed out (without nagging) (honest - I've learned my lesson on that one) that maybe she might do a little bit more to help him
tonight he told me he has her on a three month contract - which means I won't be back in that house until the beginning of December. . .