My granny always told me that there’s no use thinking about what could have been.

For example, what if I had followed my teenage ambition, joined a non-governmental organisation and spent my life living and working in developing countries? What if I hadn’t quit piano at the age of 18 and instead pursued a career in music? What if I had never married into a farming family?

When I was a mother of very young children, I sometimes felt hard done by, being isolated on a remote farm in the middle of the countryside.

My dear aul’ husband could “escape” – cows needed to be milked, silage had to be made. He physically couldn’t be with our children – they were too little to go out fencing with him and too dependent on their mammy for nurturing and sustenance (their father remains a terrible cook, so not much has changed).

Still, I have no regrets. I’d do it all over again tomorrow; the only difference is I would put less pressure on myself. I think my granny was right. I don’t see the point in looking back and thinking, “what if…”

However, I do often wonder if my house would be cleaner if I didn’t live on a farm.

I went from apartment and rental life straight into home ownership and farm life. At this stage, I don’t know any different, but every time I mop my floors I can’t help but feel that my house is probably dirtier than other non-farming households.

I am a full-on feminist, so my affinity for cleaning has nothing to do with traditional gender roles within my marriage, or as a mother. I just love a clean house and am better at cleaning than anyone I live with. I am hoping someday one of the kids takes a liking to hoovering.

I had to go away for work recently, and while I was looking forward to the break from “mammy-ing”, I also dreaded leaving because I assumed I would return to a bomb explosion. While the kids have gotten better about participating in housework, they don’t perform to a very high standard.

I would invest in one of those robot hoovers, but I feel it would just spread the muck around even more

Now, I’m not complaining about them helping out around the house. But I think most mammies will agree with me: sometimes when your kids “help”, they end up making more of a job for you.

My youngest loves to put away the clean dishes, but she is very creative about where things go. I start to cook only to realise the lid to the pot I’m using is missing. After several minutes of searching, it is finally located in the space under the oven – with the baking trays.

My middle child likes tidying the sitting room area around the sofa. She has gotten really good at covering the sofa with dog-proof blankets, but on closer inspection, it is obvious the children had not been paying attention to my “no food on the sofa” rule while I was away. I see splatters of drinkable yogurt, bits of chocolate and crumbs all over the cushions.

My eldest has decided the upstairs bathroom is too far away and has relocated all of her skincare, to the downstairs bathroom, which is usually reserved for visitors.

You might think my husband is better than the kids – and he is, slightly. But you know the difference between something being tidied and something being truly cleaned and sanitised? I’m not sure he does.

Every time I come home from a work trip, I feel the need to sanitise every surface and scrub every floor. I try not to take my frustrations out on other people, but it would also be nice if the other residents of my home took cleanliness a bit more seriously.

I suppose this is all in my head because we are entering into the busiest time of year for me, work-wise; the muckiest time of year, farm-wise and the time of year when I like the house to be extra cosy, comfortable and clean.

I would invest in one of those robot hoovers, but I somehow feel it would just spread the muck around even more.

A girl can dream, I suppose, without considering all those “What if’s…”

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