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I dislike housework. I’ve made no secret of this fact.

Don’t get me wrong, I love my house being clean and tidy but the actual physical act of wiping, scrubbing, mopping and all-that-jazz leaves me cold. Maybe it’s due to the fact that my house is also home to four boys. Messy boys.

A boy in his first term at full time school often removes his clothes in a way a stripper would be proud of and requires help in removing socks from his bedroom light fitting.

A pre-teen ‘fresh’ from football can leave a a whole heap of mess in his wake.

A young man dashing in from work, grabbing a bite to eat, a shower and heading out to a party is like a mini hurricane, turning a kitchen and bathroom upside down.

I’ve invested in a steam cleaner, a decent vacuum cleaner, a window vac and accepted that cleaning is akin to painting the Forth Bridge; a job that needs restarting as soon as you think you’ve finished.

When we moved, 5 years ago, I was pregnant and suffering badly from SPD. I was lucky that my parents came to help me prepare the house. On the weekend that we moved I took our boys and went to stay with my parents whilst my husband moved everything in (I might have left him a room plan and labelled where EVERYTHING should go…).

Everywhere was painted a nice, clean neutral shade. A warm cream colour. Except the kitchen. That was a dark terracotta. The kitchen is huge and has an extension of a conservatory – yet is always so dark due to the dark paint. So finally, this weekend, I got around to painting it.

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A couple of tins of kitchen paint, some masking tape, a roller and tray, a brush and a few hours of my time has transformed the kitchen.


The difference is huge. Quite literally. It feels so very much bigger. It is also lighter. And warmer. It’s a much more pleasant space to be in – which is good as I spend a lot of time in there (boys have hollow legs and require a great deal of feeding).

By day

By day

By night

By night

I’m so pleased that I finally got around to doing it – and I’m also rather proud that I remembered some of the skills my dad tried so hard to teach me.