Mud: dilemma of the bad housewife.

 

It goes without saying that I love our country lifestyle. But from time to time I have some problems that, whilst not exclusive to country living, are strongly identified with it. Like MUD! Our floor is never clean. Small bits of dried mud hide in corners. Muddy bootprints go up the small bit of carpet we have. Near doors there is enough mud to sweep up and add to potplants – and the wine barrel with the cumquats, and the front garden beds that run along the house. And it is mostly my fault. Naturally the kids bring a fair bit in, because that is what kids do, dirty buggers. But the largest portion of dirt in this house is from my size 9 ½ boots. And what’s more, I have NO excuse for this as I have a pair of boots outside every external door in the place.

The problem is that in my usual chaotic way I leave the house to do something, put my boots on and get halfway down the back before I realize I’ve forgotten a crucial item…like the chook scraps on the sink. I hike back to the house and instead of stopping to take my boots off again, I figure that if I tiptoe carefully into the kitchen just quickly, I’ll save time. Yes, that’s right. Tiptoe. It’s only when I turn from the sink that I see the mess that tiptoe-ing (I know, nuts right?) has created. You just wouldn’t think that that much mud could come out of tiny (HA!) wee, little size 9 ½ boots. Certainly, I am always surprised. And yet, I do this daily!

What is worse, is when I ignore my boots and go out in my work shoes…’it’s not muddy out there, these will be fine’. Errrr Not fine. And then, these shoes are added to the pile of shoes outside another doorway…so they can dry out and I can thwack the concrete mud from out of them. Because of course, old muddy shoes going through the house are just as bad…no, actually worse than newly mudded shoes for shedding as you walk. I am my own worst enemy! No matter, when I am caught out by surprise visitors and the house is littered with what looks like broken bits of bricks, I sweep it up and good naturedly blame it on the kids. Then I shake it into the potplants and the wine barrel cumquats and the front garden beds…and they’ve never looked better, more luscious or more fruitful. Because you know, mud from a 5 acre block that has chooks and horses and dogs and wildlife, is never JUST mud.

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