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I am not quite here yet!
If one mentions the word laundry my eyes will roll into the back of my head. Lead me to the host of cleaning chemicals housed under the bathroom sink and my fingers will tremble with the dreaded anticipation of toilet brushes and the busting up of soap scum. If I push the recycle bin up to the desk to clean up the piles of paper that litter the veneer finishes of the table it causes me to break out into a sweat.
This was me, a mere few weeks ago. I was always looking for a way to skip the housework, armed with a vat of legitimate excuses. There was very little guilt because unless I had a pressing appointment that required someone besides a member of my family to actually step into my house, I was happy with its mediocrity.
Key words: mediocrity, visitors other than family members, happy.The kids had no grand expectations of white glove inspections and in fact, I strapped the cleaning of the bathroom on the boys. The reasons for this were two-fold. They seemed to make it messier than any of us girls, plus I was tired. I had ten plus years on them of bathroom cleaning. I believe in sharing the wealth.
Sweeping and vacuuming were necessary because the animal hair in our house is scary, but I wait until I can’t take it anymore. The dishes were done each evening because we have to eat. I have incredible guilt if I use paper plates more than twice a year.
Last week, I woke up on a Thursday, my day off of work. After an early morning jaunt to the gym, I set myself in motion as homemaker, doing laundry. I flitted around the kitchen wiping the counters, sweeping the floors. My hands found rhythm in the swish, swish of the brush against the cold porcelain of the tub. My floor temporarily sparkled after I mopped-and I sat in defeat as muddy paw prints padded across the white linoleum.
In the evening, while I was getting my fill of The Big Bang Theory and prime-time crime drama, I surveyed my house. Seeing the cleaner floors, the emptier laundry baskets and a kind-of cleaner bathroom I realized that I had accomplished the work without any twitches, trembles or bizarre anxiety attacks.
The absence of the past adverse reaction to housework that I have felt for years is no coincidence. Not long ago I braved a new world and invited a warm body into my home that was not blood related to me, us. Whether or not we were hanging out to watch movies or eating dinner, I became aware of my surroundings, of my laziness and wanted more. I needed to show that I cared, that I never stopped, only that I was hard to motivate.
Last Thursday’s cleaning regimen didn’t hurt because the shine meant something. Today, I went in for round two, and I found it rather soothing. Housework and soothing, two words that I never thought would collide and co-exist in the same sentence, but they do, in fact they fit nicely together. My chest will fill with a little more pride when I open the door tomorrow for my friend’s visit.I will save the sweat for the gym, keep my eyes focused, keep the excuses for emergencies and try to leave the mediocrity behind. I will fear the cleaning chemicals and the piles of paper no more and welcome the sparkly house.
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