Six-Word-Mum
The Six Word Mum: Ashling Keane O’Sullivan
September 13, 2017
post natal depression
Let’s Talk About Post-Natal Depression
September 14, 2017

Calling Bullshit On…’Man Jobs’

man jobs

The other day I was attempting to chop up a 7 ft tree with a rusty saw. In spite and anger, I used his expensive oil for his bike to oil it. I was sweating profusely and cursing under my breath. I am sick of doing ‘Man Jobs’. How many times had I asked him to do this for me. He has a head like a sieve. I was trying to dispose of the tree into my neighbours skip, it has been blocking the side entrance for weeks. I was having spontaneous break downs every time the kids brought their bikes through the house and took chunks out of the doors. So I took things into my own hands, as usual.

I managed it in the end. While I was doing this in my flip flops, there was a guy cutting the main grass in the estate. I could see him out of the corner of my eye looking at me, what was I doing? Secretly I hoped he would hop off the mower and walk across the road and say, ‘I will do that for you love’.

Then I snapped out of my dream and realised my reality. This is not a Diet Coke advert, if it was he would not be starring in it.

I normally am so proud of being able to do these things, fierce independent woman. I have taught myself so many new skills in DIY. But I have reached the end of my tether this month. I am tired. I am pissed off too. While I chopped up that tree I was also cooking a pot of soup and a pot of curry.

Multi-tasking at it’s best, not good when feeling fragile though.

I was also dealing with a six-year-old who could not understand where I was. Why was I not in the sitting room watching her skate up and down? I was in the side entrance of our house. (Must remember that it is a good place to hide for a break!)

I became very angry about having to chop up this tree on my own. So, in a nutshell you could say I had a mini break down for roughly ten minutes in silence and alone in the side entrance. With the grass cutting guy watching me on each U-turn. Yes, I felt much better after it and enjoyed a bowl of soup with the kids, they were no wiser to their nutty mother’s mini melt down.

Then I had to tackle the possibility of a rat in the garden.

I mean this is just not fair. His words ‘just buy some rat poison and put it under the shed’. Yeah, like that’s happening. But I had to pull up my big girl socks and get the job done. I went to Woodies and bought the poison. So much to choose from. The lady at the checkout decided to give me a flash lesson in how to lay rat poison properly. With the help of an expert standing in the queue beside me, an old lady.

I went white, beads of sweat formed on my brow. I had to, according to them, tie the poison down otherwise they will just take the food and die anywhere. Now personally where they die I do not care. Not a bit. I want them to take the food and disappear, what’s so bad about that?? I am still confused.

Duty bound, I sat in the back garden on the bench, marigolds on, a must. Threading the discs of rat poison with heavy thread. I did a few and then got sense. This is the funny part. I psyched myself up to run up the garden and throw them behind the shed. I had an audience, my three children. So, I ran in my flip flops up the garden had a quick look, and threw about ten discs in, and ran as fast as my flip flops would carry me. Shouting to the kids ‘quick move, move in case it comes out!’. This of course was met with hilarious laughter. I too laughed at how ridiculous I must look and sound, knowing well the rat would have ran the opposite way listening to me screaming like a lunatic!

I regrouped, I had one more place to do it. The raised flower bed I had seen the dog sniffing in for about an hour the night before. I had to stick my head behind the bush and place the discs again. Like that was going to happen.

Kids stayed inside and watched from the safety of behind glass. I removed the flip flops, a quicker get away. I ran up threw them at the bush, one bounced out, frightened the life out of me, and I ran. Only to run back out because the dog was sniffing at it.

That’s all I need now to kill the dog!

Lesson’s learned here, flip flops are not good in a drop and run situation. Purchase a pair of construction steel capped boots, worse to comes to worse, I could kick the rat then run. Secondly and most importantly, just wait for him to come home and do it.

Good plan.

 

Louise O’Gorman
Louise O’Gorman
I am a stay at home Mum and part time writer of articles and short stories. I am a fiercely independent forty something who spends her days massaging the ego of three young children. Only so I can create genius’s so I can retire and live the high life. Married to my childhood sweetheart the foundation to most of my happiness, on a good day the kids fill the rest of the happiness jar.