Every Saturday morning, I don my rubber gloves and the scrubbing bubbles and I continue the deep and meaningful relationship we started years ago. I fell in love with those bubbles in a can once I discovered their ability to scour an entire bathroom without me having to lift a finger. I’ve never looked back since I picked up my first can of bubbles in the grocery store because if the truth must be told, I can’t stand a dirty house. Crumbs on the kitchen counter drive me bonkers. Sticky floors send me to my room with a headache. Dust on the lampshades causes me to grind my teeth in my sleep.
On the other hand, lemon-fresh scents make me grin. Laundry that smells like a flower patch after a spring rain makes me want to dance a jig around my washing machine. A polished coffee table makes me sing popular Broadway tunes until my kids beg me to stop.
As a result, even when I’m exhausted beyond belief after a hard week, I have to clean on Saturday morning. Yesterday, I scoured toilets. I vacuumed. I polished appliances. I dusted. And after I put away the last bottle of cleaner and the mop, I sat on the couch and stared at my beautiful house. I gazed at the straight lines the vacuum makes in the carpet. I noticed how the windows sparkled in the afternoon sunlight. I breathed deeply and inhaled the scent of disinfectant and furniture polish. "Smells like heaven," I thought to myself as my eyes grew heavy and I fell asleep. An hour later, I woke up, yawned and opened my eyes.
I’m not sure what happened during that 60 minutes but let me just tell you this … I couldn’t even tell I had cleaned. Toys were strewn everywhere. Dirty shoes lay every which way on my clean carpet. There were so many crumbs on the kitchen counter that I could have used them to bread three chicken breasts for dinner. Toilet paper was strewn around the bathroom in what appeared to be some sort of pattern, but then I realized that someone had made a poor attempt to clean up the half a tube of toothpaste that had squirted all over the mirror. I tried to leave the house, but unfortunately, my shoes were stuck to the kitchen floor.
That is where my family found me hours later, sobbing, spooning with my mop. It wasn’t pretty.
So, after seeing my clean house destroyed in just a few minutes yesterday, I decided to go outside this morning and shovel the six inches of snow we had received overnight. I scooped. I ladled. I scraped. And then there was no more snow on the driveway or the sidewalks. I turned my back to survey my beautiful clean work and as I smiled and nodded with pride, I heard the roar of an engine on the street behind me. Before I could investigate the noise, I was covered with dirty snow and ice hunks. I slowly turned to look at the sidewalk behind me as I brushed an ice hunk off the tip of my nose. I couldn’t believe it. The snowplow had just strewn six feet of snow from the street all over the entire pavement.
I sighed. There’s such a thing as perseverance, and then there’s such a thing as stupidity. I put my shovel away in the garage and promptly got into my car. "Where are you going?" my husband asked from the doorway as he threw me my purse.
"Shopping," I replied as I smiled and waved. A girl just needs a new outfit after a weekend like this one.