Wanted: Kitchen Fairy
I really don’t like doing housework! Even when I was able bodied I employed someone to clean for me. This was for two reasons, when working long days and often juggling two jobs, I just didn’t have the time or energy, and I was happy to employ another woman who was usually in need of earning the cash cash.
Now even if I wanted too, cleaning hoovering and dusting is just impossible for me either in terms of pain levels, energy and shortness of breath. My cleaner only comes weekly, and sometimes she misses a week, if floors are not cleaned or surfaces dusted, I often don’t notice. When I’m not wearing my contact lenses I can’t see well enough to notice either! Most of my visitors know me well enough not to comment if they spot something amiss.
The only person who does remark on things is my cousin Polly, who at 76 threatens to clean for me if I lived nearer her! Knowing full well that there is no way I would let her! I’ve only just persuaded Polly to stop cleaning for a 93 year old whose clutter was just proving too much to cope with.
The worst household task for me after cooking, is washing up. I have a great little tabletop dishwasher, which is a great boon, but it still needs emptying and stacking. As I don’t generate enough washing up to use it daily, I land up with a pile of dishes waiting to washed. Dealing with them, as well as cleaning the kitchen surfaces and the trays I use (my flat is too small for a dining table) is a task I always put off until I run out of cutlery or plates.
I would rather be writing this blog, answering emails, going genealogy research, catching up up TV, almost anything than having to sort out the kitchen!
As I write this there is a pile of dishes in soak ready for me to deal with.
When I had a carer who also did housework this was no problem, she did washing up whenever she came in. Great, no problems. But my current carer only does care and I can’t get my new cleaner to come in twice a week and some weeks she doesn’t come at all so I’m back to sorting out my own washing up.
It’s not really the time issue, but the pain factor that gets me. My kitchen is not adapted in any way, other than having lever taps. So I either have to stand, a sure way of getting breakthrough pain, or perch on a stool, meaning stretching and shoulder pain. As well as hoping my grip works and I don’t drop anything.
I know what the pain will be, I know I’ll get breathless, I know I’ll be exhausted at the end of doing it and land up lying down in a heap. Hence the procrastination.
But, in the absence of a fairy, even a good elf would do, until someone invents a kitchen robot or droid, I just have to do it myself.
No more excuses, the kitchen awaits!
Life from my Wheelchair 
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