I wasn’t born to clean. I was born to live, laugh and create. That at least was the plan, and then I got married to a man with a selective vision. It’s fascinating how it works, one minute he sees just fine, the next he can’t see dirt or dust.
Fortunately, he married a young woman who considered cleaning an absolute waste of time -we were made for each other. Back then I invented “sight cleaning.” I cleaned everything that could be seen at first sight, the rest I tugged away under beds and hid in closets.
“Out of sight, out of mind,” works like a charm. I also started to believe in the cleaning fairy. Sure she would come by one day.
We bought our first house and we started our first real jobs. We were gone all day long and tired in the evening. Only the Sunday was left and we used it for relaxation. We met friends who had the same problem. Life was good and life was messy. Dust bunnies moved in and multiplied.
Quickly I learned that WE is a synonym for I. There was no WE when it came to cleaning. WE need to clean the house, actually, means I have to clean the house. I am not really sure how he did it, but it worked -for a while.
Then I called STRIKE! There is no “I” in team I explained and stopped doing the dishes. I even quit sight-cleaning.
It was chaos.
I talked with my mother-in-law, thinking she might provide me with the miracle we needed, but she didn’t.
“Didn’t you do chores when you were a child,” she asked me, and I told her about all the things I had to do. Are you kidding me? I was a child on a farm. I was a pupil in boarding school. My life back then was filled with chores. I was cheap labor for everybody who seemed to need it and they handed me around.
“Cleaning is a chore, not more and not less.” “If you love to clean you don’t have a life,” she added and it made sense.
I developed a checklist that I still use to this day. There are things I have to do daily, others I have to do weekly and monthly, and then there is a seasonal list that needs to be taken care of.
The cleaning fairy never showed up. Turns out it’s a myth just like Santa, only the dust bunnies are real.
My husband still can’t see the dirt, but he helps now. I have chores and he has a honey-do-list that he loves to work on. The cleaning checklist is on our fridge and he chips in because he might be blind to dirt, but he can read!
Our house is clean, not because we love to clean, but because we love our home.