Playing House

This is Trixy. 

I think the cleaning frenzy that has ensued for the last 2 evenings stressed her out, so she decided to have a nap while I was cleaning the bedroom.

We received a call from MM's dad & step-mom on Wednesday night, asking if it was ok if they came down to visit & take us out to dinner on Friday.

First response: "Hell yes!"


There is a direct line from my stomach to my heart.

Feed me and give me coffee; and I'm yours. Forever.

Second response: "Omygod. We have to CLEAN"

Now, let me say, that considering the pigsty conditions I have witnessed over the years of apartment inspections & even some friend's abodes; we were at a 7 out of 10.

The bulk of the clean-up that was needed was just some general organization. Crap that had accumulated downstairs, that needed to go upstairs; laundry that needed put away; yada, yada, yada...

I left most of that stuff to MM while I made a pot of coffee at 8:30pm, mixed up some bleach water in a spray bottle, grabbed some scrubbers and scouring pads, and tromped upstairs.

I had my ammunition and was trudging into the trenches of war...uh...the bathroom.

What is it about having a Y chromosome that prevents you from being able to see soap scum?

Does being female give me telescopic vision ONLY when it pertains to seeing the dust & hair that accumulate around the base of a toilet?

Does anyone else get so zeroed in on cleaning the toilet tank lid, that you feel like if you don't scrape every microscopic paint splatter off it with your fingernail, you'll implode?

I have these moments. Occasionally.

MM came up to check on me once, cocked his head to the side in an attempt to understand the method to my madness. He quickly gave up and took shelter downstairs before I could delegate.

Good purging comes from moments like these, though. I forced myself to tackle what I consider to be my bathroom "junk drawer" that I'd been avoiding forever. It mostly contains a bunch of cosmetics that I rarely (if ever) wear but could never seem to part with. The icing on this disaster cake, was the fact that a small container of blue glitter eyeshadow (don't judge!) had spilled, coating everything in it's path.

It looked like Smurfette had gone to a rave & puked in my beloved drawer.

I salvaged (aka: meticulously cleaned off) anything I'd actually used in the last 3 months; and parted ways with the gooey lip glosses, gaudy eye shadows, and pasty foundations that I never wear. 

By the time I caught myself scrubbing soap scum off a body wash container, it dawned on me why the pseudo-in-laws visit had flipped this switch in my brain. Granted, most of what got cleaned or purged, needed it. But it's the fact that everything about their house always seems so damn tidy.

Was it a sense of competitiveness driving my frenzy, I wondered? Not really. It was that little itch in the back of my brain that drives me to feel like a legitimate grown-up. My refusal to live in squalor. My desire to have order. My personal vow to schedule these deep-cleanings more frequently. We have no children & 2 grown adults should be able to clean & pick up after themselves.

Even if it is only for the weekend.