Ahhh... the joys of domestic duties when you have a chronic illness. Sometimes you have to laugh, even if the laughter is hysterical. I'm guest posting on 12 More Pages again this week. Remember to check it out for some great Dysautonomia information.
Ok I've decided to jump right into the day-to-day practical issues that haunt all of us with Bob. It's these bland and normal daily chores that often seem to cause the most grief. Making dinner. Who would have thought it could become such a drama. Yet each day when that time rocks around and that simple sentence is spoken aloud “What's For Dinner Mum?”, it's just another reminder of the obstacles we have to face. I'm sure someone without a Bob in his life would wonder at the ability of such a boring daily chore to arouse such feelings of dread, guilt and hopelessness. For those poor buggers who innocently utter these words please note that you may have your spleen pulled out through your left nostril on occasion. It's nothing personal. But those four little words can be like fingernails on a chalk board some days. So the question remains, What is it about dinner that does this to us?
The time of day: ok I know for most of us mornings are like diving head first into the bowels of hell. There's something about Bob and mornings that just doesn't mix. It's the whole oil and water thing and I'm sure Bob is one of those trans-saturated-clog your arteries kind of fats. But the late afternoons and evenings can be just as bad. By that time you've spent very available drop of energy going to work (if you still can), getting kids to and from school and after school activities, attempting household chores and generally just making it through the day. The idea of then having to prepare a meal can feel like trying to scale Mt Everest in your Sunday Best. Where's my Tenzing Norga?