My dad came over yesterday and plopped down on the floor to play with the girls. I cringed because I hadn’t vacuumed in several days and our big dog, Jack, is in the midst of his slow summer shed, in which he commences to lose enough hair to stuff a loveseat or maybe one of those giant cheap stuffed animals you see at the county fair, but wonder if anyone actually wins.
Here is a glossary of terms which pretty much sum up the state of housekeeping in our home (and I am the Merry Maid at our house so I can’t fire myself, although it’s tempting):
Fear that a relative or neighbor will drop by unexpectedly and plop right down on the carpet, which has not been vacuumed for days, and be instantly covered in dog hair.
The pristine carpet underneath the couch that you discover when you pull said couch from the wall to vacuum that makes you remember what clean carpet is supposed to look like.
Similar to sand dunes, only they consist of large piles of wrinkled, but clean, laundry that has yet to be put away and probably won’t be any time soon.
The mysterious spillage at the bottom of the fridge. Could be from fruit, could be from a pound of ground beef. Just don’t touch it with your bare hands.
The hubby offered to get me a gift certificate for a housekeeping service recently but I’m one of those weirdos who will end up cleaning the house for an hour before the housekeeper arrives and then really, what is the point?
So do any of you actually prescribe to this theory? I’m a skeptic, although I’m sure it’s fabulous for some people. And I hate to admit this but I’ve discovered that playing that Barney “Clean Up” song is a great motivator for Caitlin to actually pick up her toys. She also loves to wipe down any and every surface (including wood, so I have to watch her) with those disinfecting wipes. Now if I can just get her to clean the toilets…