Writing Challenge Day 2

Mieke van den Berg. Housework. 2024. To-do-lists, wool. 3 × 1 meters. Photo Warwick Gow.

Housework

One happy, wet, scruffy puppy looks up at me with his sparkling brown eyes, panting heavily from our 4-kilometer walk as I take off his lead. “And go!” I whisper as I open the gate. He runs into the backyard, dives onto a dry patch of grass, and scruffs his nose back and forth with his bum up in the air. “Breakfast?” I cheerfully ask Mr. Toby. He jumps around me as I remove my shoes, hang up my rain jacket, and get him a frozen chicken neck. With my hands on my hips, I inspect my garden from the back door and smile contentedly. “Looking good! Oh yeah! Need to mow tomorrow.” I note, check the time, and pause my podcast as I sneak into the house. 6 am. Not a sound. Yes, I have an hour before they get up. I press play.

There is an empty container on the counter labelled "Bicarb-soda." That's right, and I head to my ensuite.

Bicarb soda, vinegar… 
Bicarb soda, vinegar…

A stench of just about every product I put in the toilet the night before wafts out of the bathroom as I open the door. “Okay, at least one of you better have done the job!” I say out loud as I open the lid. I repeat, "bicarb soda, vinegar," as I scrape and scrub the toilet and flush… “YES! Finally got rid of that stubborn limescale! That’s a win! I high-5 myself”

Bicarb soda, vinegar runs in my head as I gather the makeshift scraping implement I improvised from a plastic coathanger, the empty toilet duck bottle, and put them in the bucket. I repeat: "bicarb soda, vinegar, toilet duck, and what was it again… darn," I look around and spot the empty tube. "Ah yes, face cream… face cream." I grab the tube, put it in the bucket, and repeat the items for the list three times on my way to put the bucket in the laundry sink, and another three times until I get to the kitchen and find one of the many lists that decorate the countertop. "Bicarb soda, vinegar, toilet duck… shit…" I grab one that I started yesterday. It reads: pick up medication, scripts. I added: ear no vitamins, call Sonja, sign consent form, and pay excursion. I grab another piece and scribble: start design Jonda, order panels, send in application, social posts, blog/newsletter!

The last one I picked up, put the pen in the cup next to the stack of recycled, ripped into 10x10cm square pieces of paper. These will all become one of the many to-do lists. I scan the counter for my empty glass to fill with water… there you are! Walking over to the dining table, I spot scrunched-up receipts and last week's crossed-off grocery list and take them into my studio. I open my Google calendar on my phone, create a task, and add a notification for each item on the list. To ensure I don’t miss anything, I start writing the same list in my paper planner on my desk.

“Get out of my room!” bellows through the studio door over my podcast. I pause the podcast and silently wait. “Get out, I was here first!” I quickly check today’s tasks: SCUH appointment at 10:15 am, application to the Condensery gallery, order panels, writing challenge. As I reach the door, I hear my youngest yelling, "NOOOO, it's raining! I am not going to school. MUUUUMMMM, can you drive us?"

At this moment, how I react now will determine how the morning will unfold. I try to appear casual and relaxed, open the studio door, and joyfully greet them with a big, “Good morning girls, how did you sleep?” “Pleeeease mum, can you drive us?”

Remaining calm and definite, I say, "Nope, you are not going to melt, and you have a perfectly good rain jacket we bought a few weeks ago." I make a quick exit back into my studio. They tried a few more times, threatening to stay home if I didn’t drive them and insisting, "You can’t make me go," but I decided not to respond. Fifteen minutes later, I hear, "We are going, mum!" I yell back, "Okay, have a fabulous day, I love you." “Wow, nailed it!” I did a little happy dance.

I reach out for my glass to take a sip. Where did I put it? I get back up and glance over all the surfaces in my studio as I walk back towards the kitchen. Really???? Crumbs scattered like hundreds and thousands on fairy bread all over the counter. Under my breath, I mumble, "Darn kids, how hard is it to wipe the counter when you are done?" I grab the cloth, run it under the tap, wring it out, and wipe the counter. While I am at it, I wipe the cabinet handles. “Grubs!” Peanut butter marks smeared on the drawer and handle! “Come ONNNNN!!!!” I wipe, rinse, and put the cloth away. What was I doing again?.......

Glass… I scan the table and spot my youngest's school skorts. Oh, that’s right, I promised I would fix her skorts on the dining table. Luckily, the sewing machine is still on the table. I plug it in and adjust the waist by adding a piece of elastic so it is not too loose and won’t fall off her bum. I just picked out one of the seams…..

Bling, bling, bloungh… bluuuhmng……

I pull my phone out of my pocket. The screen reads: Foot SCUH Level1 Clinic1 10:15, fuck I need to go! While pulling up my shorts, I press the skip 15 seconds button thrice so I don’t have to listen to the ads. I am wholly absorbed in the story; it is getting tense, and something is about to happen…..

Shoes, bag, keys. 
Shoes, bag, keys, water bottle. 

I dash through the house, grab the shoes, bag, and keys, and place them at the front door. What else, what else? I look around, oh yes, scooter, helmet, I am not paying for parking (I am Dutch), and… sketchbook and pen just in case I need to wait a while. I place them on the backseat of the car and check the time. Shoot, I have to go! My stomach growls. I hadn’t had breakfast yet, shoot. Quickly, I make a cheese and ham sandwich, cut it in half, and put it on the centre console as I sit down in the car……..

I pause……. 

Do I have everything? I close the car door and start the car, "Hummmm, no, I am good. Lawn!" I write it down in my car notebook, rip out the page and stick it in my bag. “Now I am good” and drove off. About a kilometer from my house…… THE REFERRAL LETTER!!!!!!!

It was only 9.30am..... several unfinished jobs lay around the house, but at least I am on time for my appointment.

Mieke van den Berg. Housework. 2024. To-do-lists, wool. 3 × 1 meters. Photo Timothy Birch

The to-do lists are the framework of anarchiving, valuing the mental and invisible labour embedded in these notes. Connecting the notes as a patchwork with red wool shows the enormity of work encased in the notes, lovingly stitched and crocheted around the edge and sewn together. The process is similar to crocheting the bodily forms, round and round, using one thread and many loops. The accumulation of notes translates the double burden of unseen labour in the home as an archive of the daily mental and physical load. Housework revolves around a continual cycle of invisible jobs where ‘the battle against dust and dirt is never won,’ as Ukeles wrote in her Manifesto (1969).