I’ve often wondered why my mum didn’t just conserve her energy, turn a blind eye and close the door to my ever messy bedroom when I was growing up, instead of fighting her ever losing battle with me to keep it clean and tidy. My sister didn’t help matters either, she was the complete opposite to me (as is true in all aspects of our polar lives), neat to perfection and everything in its place. 
I wasn’t born with the tidy gene, pure and simple; I do sincerely and honesty believe that it’s something that you either have or you don’t. Don’t get me wrong, I do a great job at pretending to be neat and tidy, with everything in its place and going for the minimalist approach for a distinct reason.  This pretence is made a little easier by having a little cottage for a house (where it could quite easily feature on Australia’s worst hoarders if I didn’t put things away on a regular basis), a wonderful cleaner who comes fortnightly which forces me to do the mad morning rush around to at least maintain the illusion of a tidy house, and provide surfaces she can get to; but it certainly does not come naturally. Mum did her best to nurture it into me and I am grateful for her patience and insight, but unfortunately I think she was attempting the impossible. 

I know some people find the art of cleaning and tidying therapeutic and I think it’s great for everyone to have something that they can refer to, to escape the mental rush hour of the brain; but give me a treadmill, reformer or some other tortuous exercise machine and I have all the therapy I need. 

I have had to adapt to enduring the domesticated life in the last three years however. Prior to that I was quite spoilt by a husband who took the household chores and ran with them. My meals were cooked (some true culinary delights I have to add), the house regularly vacuumed, dishes washed, bins put out the night before pick up (instead of the ninja pyjama run of a Friday morning that now happens every week as the rumble of the garbage truck down the street serves as a harsh reminder that once again I have not done it the night before), the washing put on the line and taken back off and the fish tank regularly cleaned, to name but a few. 

In more recent times, I have tried to take a stand against domestic duties; refusing to do the dishes, leaving the fish tank until the guilt goes away because I can’t actually see the fish anymore, buying extra underwear or school uniform in an attempt to avoid the ever growing pile of washing, all in the hope that these chores might miraculously get done by themselves. But then the harsh reality hits that it’ll all still be waiting for me when I decide to put my toys down and start acting once again like the nearly forty year old that I am, instead of the petulant child that I have momentarily (three days at best) become. 

I put my domestic predicament partly down to my genetic make up but also to the fact (maybe more appropriately, excuse) that I am always rushing out the door or running late for something, and that I actually have very little time to get it all done. I quite often use the ‘single mother, business owner, all too busy’ excuse, mostly to myself, as to why the dishes are still sitting in the drainer some three days later, but the problem I have is that any time I do have spare I would much prefer to be spending with my son or writing my book or coming up with my next world domination business venture. 

So I will continue to ‘fake it ’til I make it’ and do what I need to, to maintain the beautiful illusion of the house proud, domestic goddess that I really am not. Just don’t open the wardrobe! 

  
I struggle with Winter. For those who know me, I appreciate that this is not a revelation. My ex-husband used to say that I was solar powered (among other things); of cheerful disposition when the weather is warm and the sun is shining and quite the contrast when the cooler, wetter, darker months come around. I have learnt in more recent years, that I am by no means alone with my ‘Winter Blues’ and that these traits are commonly recognised as a mood disorder with a seasonal pattern: Seasonal Affective Disorder (SAD). 

This Winter is no different to the last 15 in Australia and the many year-long British Winters before that. I find myself in a bit of a hole. It doesn’t help that my place of work is 5 degrees colder inside the building than outside and that I live in a 1950’s Australian weatherboard miners cottage with only a gas heater for warmth. I have learnt however to combat the cold a little at least, by wearing many, many layers and jumping straight in the shower before I do anything else after I get home from work to help thaw out. I have also learnt that physical activity is absolutely the best thing to help lift my mood at any time. 

I think that those close to me give me a bit of a wide berth at this time of year, fearful to further ruffle the feathers or attract a snappy response from an otherwise reasonable request or conversation topic. Having recognised the early onset on the symptoms this year, and following a short period of self awareness around my wallowing in the SAD’s, I concluded last night that I need a focus; something to channel my thoughts, time and energy into over the next 3-4 months to help me get through my Winter Blues. 

So last night, over home made broccoli and pine nut fettuccine and a game of Dancing Eggs (where apparently the Flemish for cock-a-doodle doo is ‘googlie-goo’ – best not to ask!) Goele and I brainstormed business/project ideas to keep my crazy brain busy and not bogged down in grey skies and drizzle. The creative juices were flowing; various website options were discussed, as too were retail projects and fitness endeavours. Non of which truly resonated with me. It was actually Goele’s suggestion that I try my hand at writing a book, given my more recently found love for writing stuff. I did admit that I had started writing a book about 10 years ago but didn’t get much further then a title and the first couple of pages, and the topic was questionable. 

So here I find myself; I have a title, a purpose, a passion for the content and a SMART goal to complete my very first book (I do have the title for a second too, should I enjoy the process). Whether or not my book gets published is a bridge to cross at a later date (maybe next Winter) but for now, I’m excited. So much so that I have already planned the chapters, the introduction and documented my key messages. 

I don’t doubt that there will be the odd wet weather affected day between now and Spring but I feel content knowing that on any one of those days I can choose to snuggle down on my sofa with a warm blanket and my little gas fire going and with pen (or IPad) in hand, I can distract myself from the grey skies and write the next chapter.