I spent all weekend cleaning and we’re talking roll back the rugs mop 3 times cleaning (we finally even hung up all out art). This is not in anticipation of the coming holidays, but it’s also not OMG it really needs to be done (tho’ it did) this was the full blown cleaning that can only be brought on by a visiting mother in law.
I have 2 mothers in law and while both would warrant a clean house only one is judgmental enough to throw me into a spastic full on cleaning rage. Not only is it a visit where they are spending the night, but they will be getting ready for the opera here too. 1 dog and 4 cats later, like it or not, they’ll be going in their furs.
It took me all weekend and the kitchen still needs some attention but (I have a week and I’ll have to clean again before they arrive) there is really something about a clean house (even if I do refuse to dust). Most everything is shiny, no tumble weeds of pet hair, flat surfaces have been decluttered, there is a palpable calm.
There are very few moments that register calm with me. R calls me the be-bopper. I cannot stay still for long. If we are watching TV I will wander off for one reason or another and get lost doing something else. My head is always whirring with lists and there are always things that need to be done. Arggg, I can’t sit still!
I suppose that’s what it is about a clean house, I can’t look over to the end table and see things that need attending, which lead to other things, etc. But isn’t that what life is? Or at least what it’s become?