My ultimate dream in life is to have someone else clean my
house. I’m sure this desire isn’t unique to me, and it wasn’t even important to
me until I had two small, wonderfully messy and imaginative girls in my life. Now
it is at the top of my list. Before they were here, I declared that I enjoyed
cleaning. It was ‘therapeutic’ I said. I’m sure I thought this because I only
had to sweep the floors once a week and maybe mop once a month. Adults don’t
tend to drop cheerios, toast crusts, syrupy waffle pieces, and cups full of
milk on the floor during breakfast. J
Because I feed children in my house on average five times a
day, I also sweep several times a day. No matter how recently I’ve swept, I will
always find Squinkies, jewelry, fairy wings, and beads in the dustpan with all
the other crumbs when I’m finished. Sweeping becomes monotonous. On top of
that, my dustpan recently broke. It’s particularly annoying to use a piece of
paper as a dustpan, which means that I sweep less often. This increases my wish
for a house cleaner tenfold, if you know what I mean.
We moved into our new house two weeks ago. I have spent most
of that time unpacking and arranging all our stuff. Until this morning, I had
yet to clean this new house. It’s always that way with me. We’ve moved enough
times that I know what I’ll do. We move in a flurry and unpack for a couple of
weeks, but I don’t clean. I think it’s because I don’t feel like it’s my job
yet. Because it doesn’t feel like it’s my house yet.
Today it was time. To
clean the house.
I started with the tile floors. I swept up bits and pieces of our day’s meals. While
sweeping, I mostly watched the massive amount of dirt, food, and toys accumulating
in a pile, but when I started mopping that tile floor stretching to forever, I finally
saw my kitchen floor. I settled into
a rhythm with my mop brushing back and forth over the brown and gray pattern. I covered every inch
of that beautiful tile floor for the first time with my mop, and do you know
what? Suddenly, the kitchen floor was mine. By cleaning the floor myself, I
felt ownership over it, a connection to it, and care for it.
My new house didn’t feel like my house until I cleaned
it. Myself.
So, today, while I sway to the rhythm of the mop and Train, I
am the steward of this house. I will clean it. I will care for it. I will love
this house into a home.
Would a cleaning lady do that I wonder?
Disclaimer: If you have a house cleaner, I’m really just jealous
of you. J
