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Just as Awesome as I Thought it Would Be

January 27, 2011

My house was cleaned this week.

Honestly, for the way it looks right now, it may very well be the first time some parts of it were EVER cleaned.  In particular, the baseboards in the hallway that didn’t look clean when we first moved in, still didn’t look very clean after I attempted to clean them right after we moved in, and certainly didn’t look clean after a couple of half-hearted attempts to rectify the situation in the past 3 years.  Also, the radiator in the kitchen that I thought was permanently nasty-looking due to rust … it’s white now.  I guess I could have tried harder.

They even cleaned and organized my closet.  Which is actually very embarrassing.  I mean … I never expected them to go into my closet.  And because of that incorrect expectation, I shoved things into the closet, and made no attempt to organize the closet.  The closet is big, and it is deep, but not a walk-in.  I have sometimes kept my dirty clothes hamper in the closet, and sometimes, while it was in the closet, it got over-full, and I threw stuff on it anyway (stuff = underwear, maybe), but becuase it was over-full, the stuff sort of tumbled over behind the basket, and so when I finally took the basket out of the closet, the stuff remained in the deep corners of the closet.  But then the cleaning people came, and they crawled into that closet, and pulled all the stuff out of the deep corners.

Ouch.

As Lemon would say:  “So, um … yeah.”

Lemon didn’t say that after the cleaning people left, though.  She didn’t say anything to me, except some grunts and other highly irritated sounds, all accompanied by turned-down eyebrows and scowls.  Why?

Because Lemon just had midterms.  her first in high school.  For the past, I don’t know – 3? weeks, I’ve been impressing upon her that Cleaning People Were Coming.  First, they came to give a quote.  Then they came to clean.  So it’s been a pretty long-standing situation.

Interjecting into my own story:  I don’t clean the girls’ rooms.  Maybe I will sit with them annually and help them (make them) throw stuff away and weed out their closets.  But they clean their own rooms.  Sometimes.  I may make some vague noises about it being a weekly requirement, but I suck at enforcement (partly because of how messy my own room is most of the time … partly because I am lazy and a large part of me doesn’t care).

I guess despite my multiple warnings, she took it with a grain of salt.  Maybe because I had been threatening to have someone clean the house for the past 3 years, and it never materialized.  But you would think once they did come to give us a quote (and she was home!), she would have seen how I meant it this time.

But then they were coming tomorrow, and her room was a disaster, and she was studying for midterms in a way that was all consuming and stress-creating.  She complained and bitched and moaned, and said “why do they have to come in my room?  why can’t my room just be MY room?”

I said fine.  They don’t have to go in your room.  We’ll close your door, and tell them not to go in.

Writer Dude did just that.

In the meantime, Mouse spent 30 minutes here, 30 minutes there, and straightened her room a decent bit.  It was not perfect.  Far from it.  But it was also 100x better than Lemon’s.

When Lemon came home and saw that Mouse’s room had been completely cleaned AND organized … even her closet … Lemon was livid.  Sooo livid!  She was – at first – mad at WD and I.  But we reminded her of the earlier conversations.  She hmph’d at us, but stayed livid.  I said, “this isn’t fair!”  (maybe with a bit more authority than it reads there …) and she said, “I’m not mad that they didn’t clean my room anymore.  Now I’m just mad that my room isn’t clean.”

So I traded her:  stop having a nasty attitude with ME, and you can watch an episode of Modern Family on my iPhone.

Then we had peace.  Even smiles and laughter.  For the rest of the evening. (Surprisingly, this is not sarcasm.)

I love my clean house.

 

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One comment

  1. […] The first reason it didn’t work for me is because — cleaning.  Ick.  Cooking.  Bleh.  I’m really not very good at those things.  As I’ve made very clear. […]



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