I feel very uncertain about a lot of things. One thing I know is that I hate The Stuff in the Sink. It sits there and just sits there and it does nothing. There are bits of tofu that my daughter half dipped in honey. There are meals I made, but no one ate. There are almonds that I’ll need to fish out by hand because our disposal can’t handle the load.
The better half might say that we could “just leave it until morning.” The word “festering” comes to mind and I’m filled with rage.
I know Moms who see The Stuff in the Sink as a failure. If morning comes and The Stuff is still there, it somehow signals defeat. Something won and it wasn’t them. I understand this viewpoint, but I also won’t give The Stuff that sort of power. I also know Moms who don't seem phased by the stuff in the sink and I envy them.
For me, The Stuff is something I can’t handle greeting me in the morning next to my pot of tea. It’s not a failure, but an additional task that overwhelms me between packing-lunch, finding socks and feeding small humans. The day already feels crippled with work I haven’t achieved and facing The Stuff is intolerable.
There was a time when I worked as a pastry cook and a chef. Even with a small team, I felt supported and I shared my work. When there was Stuff in the Sink, we’d created it together and cleaned it together. A good kitchen feels like a giant organism that breathes because of all the moving parts involved. Collaboration and even a familial dedication define the culture of so many successful kitchens. For me, there were Narwhal jokes, people who clocked-out but stayed by my side until the end of the shift, and a positive energy that’s like the secret to fueling creative forces.
In Motherhood, so much is unseen. There’s an appointment scheduled here and tantrum calmed there that go completely unnoticed by the world – unless, or course, the tantrum happens in public and the mom undergoes a criminal sentencing of stares, or the appointment goes unscheduled and school calls (the mom) wondering why they haven’t received the medical paperwork. These tasks aren’t defined as “mother’s work.” The tantrum and the medical paperwork could reflect the father’s success. But, they don’t.
The Stuff in the Sink smells. It’s not a global pandemic. It’s a simple daily reminder of a lack of collaboration. It’s just the Stuff in the Sink, but it can feel like an insurmountable wall that very quickly becomes the difference between 15 minutes of reading a news article and engaged citizenship versus total isolation.
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