My husband informed me the other evening that one of the reasons he was attracted to me when we first met was that I was unlike any other woman he had ever met.
I wasn’t sure how to take that, but he assured me it was a compliment, so being that marriage is based on trust and all, I’m just taking his word for it.
He also said that one of the things he loves about me is my creativity.
I guess that once you consider the fact that I barely cook, seldom clean, expect to be waited on hand and foot, and having a highly attractive autoimmune disorder that causes me to shed flakes of dead skin and sport weird overgrown knuckles, creativity is pretty much all that’s left.
I don’t know if I’m truly a creative person. A lot of the time I feel like I’m simply copying other people, the true artists who see the world differently. But I do know that I love to create– with words, with my camera, with paper and chipboard and photographs. I’ve always loved to create with words– I wrote my first poem around the ripe old age of eight and wrote many lavish and over-adjectivized (I so just made that word up!) short stories which make L. M. Montgomery look like a minimalist.
I discovered my love of scrapbooking and paper and keeping memories when Bubs was born. I will never be a great famous scrapbooking artiste, but that doesn’t stop me from getting a little giddy from the smell and the feel of paper.
And I love taking pictures, and I really love editing them and making them look all fancy or artsy or just a little weird. I don’t know why. Maybe it’s because I’m blessed with three of the most adorable children in the universe. They inspire me.
Anyway, the result of all this creating is that a lot of other things get neglected. Housework would probably be top of that list. The thing about housework– about washing and drying and folding and putting away and doing it all again tomorrow– is there is no creativity involved. It is dull and mundane and unexciting and uninspiring. Especially compared with the joy of taking a gorgeous picture, writing some meaningful words to go along with it, and putting them together with some paper and embellishments and creating a masterpiece.
But neglecting the housework, it doesn’t really lead anyplace good. Laundry must be done, dishes must be washed, dinner must be made, and toilets must be scrubbed.
So I’m asking you, my readers, many of whom are much more creatively inclined than I am, and I’m sure all of whom are better housekeepers, to give me some hints.
How do you get it done? Do you just buckle down and do it? Do you reward yourself with creative time? Do you find creative ways to accomplish your tasks, and if so, what sorts of things do you do to make your housework less mundane and more of a channel for your inner creative self?
Please, people. My house is drowning in dirty dishes, folded-but-not-put-away laundry, and those little tabs from the back of photo splits.
Is there a way to make this work for me, creativity and all?
and yes, I know, if I were a truly creative person I could come up with a solution to my own problem without asking the internets. Just accept this as a part of my unlike-any-other personality, mmmkay?