Why Disastrous

Disastrous: 1. Causing a lot of damage or harm.
                2. Very unsuccessful.

Now, before we jump to conclusions: no. This blog is not going to be an ever-lasting tirade announcing my short comings and failures. 

Actually, I find the term "disastrous" almost endearing when relating it to my life.

I am constantly attempting to "start over" or, really, tackle life from a different angle. I want to be more organised. More connected to people, form better relationships. I want to be the perfect wife, parent, student, daughter, sister, friend. 
Crazily enough, it never works out.

I finally came to the realisation that I am never, ever going to meet my own expectations of myself. That really, every day is one disastrous attempt after another to reach those unrealistic goals. 

And so, I'm happy to relate myself and my life to being disastrous. Nothing ever really works out as I planned, and that's what makes it wonderful. 

In fact, I'm fairly certain my attempt at blogging itself is going to be disastrous. Doesn't that tie things up nicely.

Attempt #1156

You know those people who constantly claim: "I could NEVER be a housewife! I need something more mentally stimulating to do with my life. I'd die. Seriously" ? Those who believe the idea of simply being a home-maker is tiresome, unbelievably dull - as though you've given up on your own life and have settled for a slow death involving snotty noses and The Wiggles?

I was one of those people.

I never wanted to spend my days reasoning with a miniature rage-monster. To be wiping bottoms and answering numerous ridiculous questions. To continuously maintain a neat and welcoming household,while keeping a husband organised, happy and well fed.
...pass, thank you.

And yet, here I am. In my early twenties. Married. One almost-four-year-old and another on the way. Completely settled down and half wondering how on earth that happened.  

However, that's just the start of it. Oh yes. Just the other day, I was sweeping the kitchen floor and was struck with the most ridiculous realisation of my life: 
I'm a housewife - and I love it.

I love my routine of housework. I love baking and preparing meals for the family. I love Playdoh and tea parties and quietly laughing at the nonsensical statements a toddler makes. I love the husband coming home to us, and spending the evenings together as a family.

I must have lost the plot entirely.

With identifying as a housewife, however, came another realisation: I was quite alone in that. I don't have any married friends my own age, nor do many of them have children. Not that it's a major issue, but from time to time, it feels a little isolating. I've also taken a break from social media recently as well. I found I wasn't enjoying the way I was using Twitter and Facebook, and wanted to make a few tweaks; focus more on life and relationships. As inspiring and uplifting as I've found the time offline, I've also found it isolating all over again.

Which, in a way, is why I'm here. I've been thinking of writing for a long time. So I figured, why not. I don't want to write because I think my life is of any great importance, or because I think I'm incredibly intelligent, or witty, or an amazing writer. And I'm definitely expert on anything in particular.
I simply wish to share, enjoy and connect with others.

So, welcome to my little bubble. 
If you were actually here, I'd make tea.