Any chance you could grab your marigolds and race over here for a cuppa and er, a major clean of my house?
My list to output ratio is looking pathetically unbalanced, and I simply cannot get it all done. I want a clean, perfect looking house, really I do, but the ONLY time it ever happens is when we’ve got a house on the market and OH takes kidlings out for 4 hours whilst I do a mental clean up. So that was, hmmm, nearly three years ago.
I won’t inflict any pictures of the toxic waste dump that is the interior of my home, it wouldn’t be fair on you and there’s a good chance that someone would call out environmental health and/or Kim and Aggie and I’m not really sure which is worse. I should have saved the tupperware container filled with ripe chicken soup to show you….the growth on that rivalled some of Louis Pasteur’s best attempts, before that lovely Scottish chap came in and gave him a helping hand. I won’t show you my to-do list either, we’d be here all day.
Instead I’ll share my pain, my envy of the perfect houses that my friends have and my unending confusion of how they can get it all done when I struggle with a weekly clean of the loo. How they can send their immaculate children to school every day while I hastily shove a jumper over a stained polo shirt and tug a brush through matted hair. Of course their houses are perfectly decorated and ‘finished’, regular readers will know that my own is depressingly undecorated and will never be finished.
How? How? How do they do it?
Today I set out fully intending to blitz the house in preparation for the weekend. I even put on my favourite ‘get things done’ song (Carl Douglas Kung Fu Fighting- always guaranteed to generate some energy) So far, so crap… The kitchen has been cleaned, except for the floor, but since then we’ve had snack time and then lunchtime so it’s pretty much back to toxic again.
I’ve hung out one wash and put on another, only to discover that the first wash wasn’t really washed and the second has stopped midcycle, and is now laughing mockingly at me behind its shatterproof screen. The dishwasher had been emptied but most of it rejected as, frankly, that’s on it’s last legs too, and there is now an EU mountain of toys and random objects inhabiting the bottom step that doubtless I will be the one to move, once the dog’s had a go at them and everyone else has ignored them on at least 6 occasions.
GET A CLEANER!! You might cry, which would be a nice show of solidarity because I’m sat here sobbing, but I can’t you see because:-
a) I can’t afford one
b) I used to have one and I had to let her go (see point a)
c) When I did have a cleaner I was prone to criticise, even though she was doing a much better job than me, because at the heart of it having someone else clean my house just doesn’t sit well with me.
And c) is my main problem. The control freak in me can’t cope with it all but can’t bear anyone else doing it. I know where every scrap of dirt is and you can bet that I’d notice the one spot that didn’t get done. I wouldn’t be one of those women who clean before the cleaner arrives, I’d be the one tut-tutting and cleaning afterwards, just to prove that I can do it really. So I guess the only option is to insert a full stop and pull the marigolds back on….if you don’t hear from me within 24 hours please call Cleaner 911….I may need a superhero!
Oh, but before I go: