September 25th, 2004
|11:50 am - Cleaning on a Thursday|
We have a good-sized house (even with Charlie and I and Dad living in it), so from time to time we have guests for a few days or weeks or (one horrible time) months. This time, there was a visiting lecturer coming in from Greece, and the Math department was asked if she could stay with anyone for a bit until she found her own place. Dad asked if we could offer our guest room, but between my job and visits to the ER and whatnot, the house was an absolute disaster.
And she was coming Friday.
Now, I know you probably know people who, if there is one speck of dust on their immaculate coffee table, or a trash can with more than one item in it, or a plate and fork in the sink waiting to be washed, they *say* their house is an absolute disaster.
I am not one of those people. At any given time, I have plates, forks, pots, pans, and God knows what in the sink waiting to be washed, and near-overflowing trash cans (which I just stomp down on, usually, until I can't do that anymore), and knick knacks and bits and pieces of jackets and purses and laptops and books scattered here and there. This is not "absolute disaster," in my opinion: this is "comfortable and lived in."
So, when I say "absolute disaster," I mean there were boxes and bags of trash, 6 months of old Lane Bryant, Chadwicks, Roamans, and King-Size catalogs, three-month old mail that hadn't been opened, dishes, plates, jackets, purses, shopping bags, receipts, empty cigarette boxes, tiny socks and shirts from my nephew's last visit, and probably a partridge in a pear tree ALL OVER the front rooms of the house.
Seriously, it looked like someone was in the process of moving in, moving out, or just destroying the place.
So, I told Dad that I was really uncomfortable having a stranger stay with us with the house in this state, and that even though I didn't MAKE the mess (well, with the one obvious exception of my giant pile of shoes under the coffee table and the laptops, purses, jackets, and shopping bags on top of it ... um, and my office, which we're just not going to discuss), and even though I work full time, because I am the only woman living here, there's an implied expectation that if the house is a mess, it's my fault, and that would kind of stress me out.
He surprised me by offering to pay for Merry Maids (or whatever housekeeping service it was) to come in and clean up the common areas, and I was good with that. So, last weekend, I cleaned up and took out all the trash, and basically cleaned up most of the areas. I only had a bit left to do, because I tend to leave my shoes under the coffee table, and it had become a collection of like 20 pairs, and I had to get my laptop and purses and junk off the top of the coffee table. (It's just so convenient to drop stuff there when you come in.)
Anyway, I didn't want the housekeeping people to have to move all my shoes around, and I wanted them to be able to dust the table, so I had to get all my crap out of there. Meanwhile, I found some more stuff in Charlie's area, so I cleaned that up also.
Thursday, I found myself frantically tidying up all my coffee-table crap for about an hour and a half. I had just finished up my cleaning when Dad got home, and said that the visiting lecturer lady wasn't coming to stay with us after all.
Charlie says, "Hey, this is great! You should threaten us with Greeks more often."
I let him live.
Because I am, after all, kind of heart.
Oh well: it's nice to have a clean house.
I totally feel for you hon.. I have the 5 little ones always destroying things just after I clean them.. they are near impossible to keep up with. I am worn out most of the time.. and yet.. I still survive. *weak smile*
Having things clean regardless of the reason it gets that way is always nice. :)
*laughs at mrsv* *runs like hell*
|Date:||September 25th, 2004 01:36 pm (UTC)|| |
I gotta remember that.
I bet I could get Mike to pay for a service AND clean the crap up in his "office" (read: the place he play alln his computer games and sleeps when he snores too much) if I told him my Mom was coming.
Damn...why didn't I think of that years ago???
You can track my7 movements for any given week by the shoes under the dining table and the shopping bags on top of it. *L*
I vote you get those men of yours to start doing their own dishes. If you're old enough to make a snack, you're old enough to do the washing up.
I hope you poked him good, honey. ;)
Your place has lots of surfaces. I'd never be able to keep up with the dusting. See if they will send in a maid service one every three or six months. ;)