Because, trust me, if Jace wasn't coming to visit this weekend, I never would have spent my entire Fourth of July eradicating the huge dust bunny hutch, formerly known as "the kitchen".
Yikes! It was exhausting!
Who knew ceiling fans grew beards?
Admittedly, I've been a bit lax of late in the housework department. Until yesterday, however, I had no idea how lax. Good Golly, a blind monkey couldn't miss the inch-thick dark, furry glob glued to the top of the bright yellow chain from which the light over the kitchen table hangs. Where in the world did it come from, and why didn't I notice it till now? I know I'm short, but don't I ever look up?
Or, more to the point, since John -- come to find out -- did notice it, why didn't he get rid of it?
Anyway, the living room carpet has been shampooed, the kitchen and bathroom floors mopped, the windows Windexed like mad, yada, yada, yada. Daniel's room still looks like a scene from Hoarders, but that's his problem. Figure Jace has seen his dorm room so it shouldn't be too big of a shock. Ahem.
Indeed, I should do deep house cleaning more often. But truth is, I really don't like housework. It makes me a skosh cranky. Like it less and less the older I get. Just seems so futile. Resent the time it takes, only to have to do it over again and again and again. Housework is endless, and life -- especially at my age -- is just too short.Bottom line: I just feel like unless company is coming, who cares? (Have I whined enough yet?)
But when company is coming? Look out! I am a whirling dervish of crabby cleaning frenzy!
In fact, all my scurrying around reminds me of when I was six years old and I was watching my scowling mom fly about the house, cleaning furitively...she never did that on a regular basis. Could only mean one thing.
"Are we having company? I asked in wide-eyed wonderment as my mom Jet Spray Bonamied a living room window with one hand while revving up our ol' Hoover with the other.
"Why?" my mom hissed at me, her eyes narrowed and glaring, a Salem cigarette clenched in the right corner of her mouth.
"Cuz after the last time you cleaned like this," I gulped, nervously, "Danna and Bumpa (my grandma and grandpa) showed up."
My mom (always the domestic goddess), paused long enough to take a long, deep drag off her Salem, growled as she exhaled, and just kept on cleaning.
Funny, she didn't look at all like the early 1960s' mommies I saw scrubbing their floors or cleaning their mirrors on television commercials...they all seemed so happy...thrilled even...holding a box of laundry detergent or a can of glass cleaner so lovingly in their hands. As though they thoroughly enjoyed cleaning their houses. What was up with my grouchy mom? It wasn't till the early 70s, while babysitting, that I happened to hear actress Carol Channing on MarloThomas' Free To Be You And Me record wax poetically regarding the truth about housework.
And that truth is, nobody likes housework. Nobody. Not really. And the only reason those house-cleaning women on TV were smiling is because they were getting paid to smile about it in order to sell a house cleaning product.
Ohhhhhh! Well, no wonder! Whew! Such relief as I entered young womanhood to know that I wasn't the only one less than wild about meeting the challenge of keeping a house clean and orderly on a regular basis.Anyway, I'd love to write more about how I loathe housework, but I still have sheets to wash, the underside of couch cushions to shop vac, the dishwasher to unload...blah, blah, blah...grrrrrrrr.
Presuming Jace will leave his white gloves at home...nevertheless...back to work I go.
And just in case you have never heard it, I leave you with Carol Channing's delightful, ground-breaking Housework ditty. Enjoy!
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