Friday, March 07, 2008

She quit cleaning and now she can't stand the guilt.

Remember when I posted dramatically about my housework strike? And how two days later my son tripped over the mess in is room and put his arm right through the window?

The house hasn't been condemned, but the heavens will part and golden, winged, trumpet playing pigs will descend from them before my daughters will remember to pick their clothes up off the bathroom floor.

Seriously, Jon has stepped up to the plate. He has been doing a lot of cleaning. Unfortunately, I'm now saddled with guilt. I can't stand it that someone else is doing work that I've always felt to be my responsibility. Ridiculous, I know. I also can't stand it that he's spending his days off cleaning.

There's also the tiny problem that Jon cleans differently from how I clean, and, as hateful as this makes me sound, it gets on my nerves, just tiny, wee bit. Jon likes things to be shiny. I like things to be orderly. Between the two of us, we could probably achieve a truly fabulous house, but as it is, Jon will leave tidy piles of stuff everywhere, but glory in the dust-free state of our flat surfaces. I don't notice dust, so much, but hate clutter more than anything. All I want is for everything to be put away where it belongs. Is that too much to ask?

Jon also moves things to places where I can not find them. For example, if my neighbors are wondering why I was in my driveway at 7:00 this morning, with the contents of my recycling bin dumped out beside me, frantically sorting through a great stack of papers, it was because Jon cleaned my desk last night and moved the credit card bill--sealed, with payment inside--and this morning when I went to my desk, where bills ready to be mailed are always leaning against the lamp--because this is where I've been putting outgoing mail for the last nine freaking years-- the bill wasn't there. Turns out, he'd made a tidy pile of sundry papers and placed them between the banisters on the stairs and there lay the credit card statement, neatly hidden. I wish I'd known that before I'd dumped out the recycling in a desperate attempt to beat the garbage men.

I guess what I really want is for my house to be perfectly clean at all times, and that the cleaning is somehow controlled by me, does not inconvenience anyone, and yet does not require any effort on my part either. Maybe it's time to hire someone.

I got a notice today that Mr. McP, my youngest child, has art that will be exhibited at McGuffey all through the month of March. First Friday is tonight, and Mr. McP gave me the notice, complete with a lengthy permission slip, this morning at 7:42--three minutes before we go out to wait for his bus. There is a ten dollar entry fee, but no information as to who is getting the payment. McGuffey? Or Art in place which is sponsoring the exhibit? I made the check out to McGuffey and I'd better not hear any squawking about it. We'll go to First Friday, but I'm half afraid Mr. McP's art won't be there, since the permission slip got to me so late. WHY did they wait this long?

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