I’m embarrassed to say just how dirty the mop was

Ever have those days when you find yourself up to your elbows in some project that you hadn’t planned for the day?

Today I have spent more hours than it is to my benefit to admit house cleaning.   True, having a doglet that sheds doesn’t help.  He walks through the living room and a thousand hairs are freed from his coat and float in the air co-mingling with the rest of the dust particles and then gently settle … EVERYwhere.

There was a time when I was on a strict cleaning regimen.  Every Saturday I started in the bathroom and worked my way down the hall dusting, sweeping, vacuuming, spritzing, wiping and de-cluterizing everything in my path.  Except my husband’s office – that was out-of-bounds.  Which was fine with me, I wouldn’t have known where to begin.  THEN, after purging my need to clean our dwelling I would bag up all our dirty linen, so to speak, stuff it into my pull cart and head to the laundromat.  Now, I believe laundromats are some of the most dismal places on the planet.  They speak to me of dreariness and loneliness, graffiti and litter, blinking flourescent lights and cigarette smoke hanging in a haze, and jammed coin slots, so I always preferred to do this chore in the full light of midday.

Back home with clean laundry I would then set out again with my handy pull cart and head to the grocery store.  We lived in the city and didn’t own, didn’t need, a car and my little pull cart could hold a couple of garbage bags of laundry or four bags of groceries. Now, to say how long ago this was, four bags of groceries cost me about $20.  Yeah, a rather long time ago.

Sometime between then and now I managed to overcome my urge to clean.  Having three children in less than four years was a good start.  When one is knee-deep in diapers and refereeing sibling spats and trying to find the other sock or rebuild the Lego castle there isn’t energy, to say nothing of time, to take on the dust settling on the cabinet or the dog hair forming tumble weeds under the bed.

The girls are all out on their own now, setting up homes and producing grandchildren and struggling with their own cleaning schedules while working jobs as well. So, we’re childless again, I’m even retired and home all day, but I did such a good job purging myself of the cleaning gene that it hasn’t sparked to life again.

But really, x hours? At least I don’t need to do my yoga today – I got into some pretty good stretch positions just cleaning behind the toilet.

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