I hate cleaning. With a passion. Or maybe that’s more that I lack the passion to enjoy cleaning. Either way, it is very low on the priority list. Very.
People have asked me how I find the time to do all the baking I do with two young children, a full homework load, and the responsibilities of being a stay-at-home mom. It’s simple: I skip the cleaning so I can bake instead. Procrastination? You bet! A little clutter and some dust bunnies can easily be forgotten once I’ve tasted whatever culinary pleasure I’ve whipped up. It’s a fair trade.
But there is an odd ritual attached to the baking process. Despite my disinclination to spend my so-called free time performing the wifely housekeeping duties, the dishes must ALL be clean and out of my way and the counters clear (what little counter space I have) before I will start a baking adventure. There’s something ingrained in me that prevents me from adding to the mess if I’m avoiding picking it up. Survival skill? Perhaps. Without it, I’d probably be crushed under the weight of dirtied dishes, proclaiming til the end that even if the house was a mess, at least everyone had enough to eat.
Alright, maybe that’s a bit dramatic. Regardless, as I sit here on the first day of Thanksgiving break from school, I’m fighting the lethargic interior battle: do I bake (which means I have to wash the dishes that are sitting in the sink as I type) or do I continue to browse for recipes on the internet, salivating at the promise of delicious indulgence but stalemated by my unwillingness to commence preparation in order to actually produce those delights.