Once upon a time, I was a clean freak. I kept up with laundry and dishes during the week, and the entire house got a good dusting, vacuuming, and scrubbing on Saturday morning. I (almost) enjoyed this quiet time. I'd put on a CD or a good movie and just scrub away. Gigi would tag along or lounge on the couch, waiting for the inevitable cookie that would be tossed from the kitchen. (I miss you, Sugar Lips!) I was never embarrassed for company to drop by.
These days, you're lucky if you're invited to pick me up outside my front door, much less come in. This place is a wreck! I blame it on two things: work and husband. (Understand that under no circumstances would *I* ever be to blame.) Work, because I work much longer hours now and because I am emotionally and physically exhausted when I drag through the door. Husband, because while I love him to death, he ain't no housekeeper. And he likes to spend his weekends "doing stuff" outside of the house, so I don't even have a chance to clean. We're always bowling or shopping or traveling or whatever. No wonder I'm exhausted all the time!
To his credit, he does his part (or what he considers his part) by "doing" the laundry every week. I'm OK with that. Sure, not all my clothes come out wrinkle-free--he thinks every load needs to be washed and FOLDED before it is taken upstairs and hung. He doesn't get the principle of hanging fresh clothes to keep them from wrinkling. Anyway... Scott also will load the dishwasher on occasion--hence the dishes that sometimes have to be hand-washed because of the stuck-on food.
But enough Scott-bashing. Like I said, he does what he can, and he's too stubborn to train. I mean, the man was a bachelor for 40 years. He's done all the learnin' he's going to do. If you know him, you know exactly what I am talking about.
But today dawned bright and shiny, and SCOTT WENT TO WORK! I was blissfully alone with my Macy, and when I started sweeping the bathroom, she was right there to help. I gave her a cookie. For the next two hours, Macy helped me clean and mop the bathroom, rearrange decorative stuff in several rooms, and put together the vacuum cleaner we bought two weeks ago. In a few minutes, I'll try it out. Unfortunately, Macy has to go outside during vacuuming. She attacked (and broke) my first vacuum, and goes nuts whenever the machine emerges from the closet. Gigi would just go sleep in another room.
The point of all this is: The house is getting clean. It smells like "freshness" in here. It doesn't make me feel like a slob. And best of all, the "guest wing" of the house is ready for tenants. They're coming on Sunday! I'm worried and excited all at the same time. But at least I don't have to be embarrassed for them to live here among the dirt and pet hair!
Man, I wish Scott would work every Saturday!
No comments:
Post a Comment