My mom's house is spotless. You could eat off of the floor. The bathroom Floor. The basement Floor. The concrete steps that lead up to the front door. You know how most homes have a unique smell? It's usually a distinct odor that stays in your clothes and hair when you leave. Sometimes it's the scent of candles, or garlic, or the new carpet. The odor in my mom's house? Clean. She always complains that she never has time to clean and do stuff around the house. I secretly think that she must clean in her sleep and doesn't realize it, because her house is ALWAYS clean. Growing up, we cleaned the entire house, from top to bottom every Saturday. If we wanted to go out on Saturday, we cleaned on Friday, or my mom was gracious enough to do the chores on her own, because there was no outing or holiday important enough to NOT DO CHORES.
My house is pretty clean. I like to keep it "company ready". I don't like clutter and I don't like feeling embarrassed when people come over. I like to feel organized and I do the best I can. But I'm not my mother.
On Monday, I had a flashback of living at my mom's house and I decided to give the floors the scrubbing of their life. An hour and a half it took me to clean about 700 square feet. I swept, I vacuumed, I mopped with piping hot water and Pine Sol, I rinsed with cold water, I dried. It was floor perfection. A floor my mother would be proud of.
Then... Yoli came home. She spends the night every now and then. It was dark and wet outside. My pristine floors were ruined by her boots tracks. But it was nothing a few paper towels and a bottle of bleach couldn't get out. Then... Morning came and I was making breakfast. An entire carton of eggs crashes to the floor, landing egg side down. Shells! Yolks! Gooey Whites everywhere! !#$%@& Like the little boy in a Christmas Story, the 4 letter words exploded from my mouth so quickly I didn't have time to censor myself. Then....Today Aimee is enjoying the last of the apple juice. A full sippy cup of it. "Oh OH!" I turn to see what she'd dropped to find her brand new khaki pants soaked in apple juice, and a puddle right in the middle of my once clean kitchen floor. I took her pants off right in the kitchen to keep her from getting juice on everything else. When I turned to get some paper towels to soak up the puddle, she discovered the joy of a wet slippery floor and decided to play slip and slide in the middle of the kitchen.
That is why, even if it's just for these next toddler years, I will not be as clean as my mom. I do not have the dicipline or character to invest so much time into something and not freak out when the work is undone. So excuse me while I go dig out God's gift to the lazy person. The Wet Swiffer.
1 comment:
dude, wait until aimee can hold a broom, then the house will be alot cleaner. lol most of my memories from childhood have been of saturday morning 9am wake up calls from mom to clean the house. i feel like ive spent more time cleaning the bathroom than actually using it.
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