If Cleanliness Is Next to Godliness...Then Houston We Have a Problem

If it's true what they say about cleanliness being next to Godliness then my house is in real trouble. Being Catholic, I am inclined to believe we are only a few steps shy of a full blown exorcism.
Since the start of the publishing process back in January my house keeping skills have deteriorated considerably. I freely admit that while I enjoy the the benefits of a clean house; I am hardly enthusiastic about the process. Over the years I have learned to be kinder to myself about the build up of family things around the house. I try and manage the never ending amount of school papers, keeping my own constant, incoming stream to a minimum. I forgive the animals their inherent need to shed all over the furniture and rugs. I say little to the teenagers who have cups and glasses strewn in every room, as if they were attempting a glass scavenger hunt in the future.

I forgive our indiscretions for messy house behavior. At least until company unexpectedly shows up and then all hell breaks loose. The minute the doorbell rings I begin screaming to anyone who is home to start hiding the mess. I shove paperwork under seat cushions, I vacuum with one hand while dusting frantically with the other. Dishes get crammed under the sink as the dishwasher stands empty. I pitch BoBo on the couch multiple times as a way to fluff pillows. It's total and mass chaos right up until the 3 seconds it takes to open the door. I open the door smiling as I wipe the sweat from my hairline showing my company into the living room excusing the way the house looks, knowing full well it looks better at that moment than it has in weeks.

I mean to clean, but the road to house hell is paved with good house keeping intentions. I never liked cleaning. I never felt the kind of satisfaction from it that some do. I admire women who take such pride in their home as it sparkles, smelling of fresh laundry and disinfectant. I visit those homes and revel in their self discipline and due diligence. I sigh and breathe deeply in the scent of satisfaction, as I gaze longingly with clean house envy. I leave knowing full well no matter my intent, my house will always smell like day old coffee with a hint of wet dog.

Michael didn't marry me for my house keeping skills. Thank God! His disappointment would have been heard around the world. He was 41 years old when we married, so he had no problem with running the sweeper and mopping the floor. Good thing, since the outlook was grim for any expectation of me making it a priority. I often wonder if I didn't work inside the home (locked away for hours in an office,now) if I would be better at it. I tend to think it's doubtful. I'm sure I would have filled up my days doing anything else, just like I did when I was a kid and my parents expected me to clean.

My goal in working is to make enough money to start my own economic stimulus plan and hire someone else to do the cleaning. I plan to be generous with wages and praise. Bonuses will be given at the holidays as incentive pay to keep doing what I don't want to. Pay raises will be frequent and meaningful. Compliments will be lavished on my future employee as I bring her/him ice tea and cookies for a mid morning snack to keep her/his energy up. I haven't quite figured out the vacation idea because I tend to be needy and fear my dependence may be too strong by then. We'll see how it goes. Maybe offer them vacation where they accompany me so I can feel the comfort of their presence, taking in the faint aroma of Mr. Clean, I've requested they dab behind their ears.

In the mean time I am unable to convince the ones I love that chasing the dog hair tumble weed around the dining room is fun. The mob is turning ugly. I know it's time to pick up the mop when the teenagers rooms are the cleanest in the house. Even the cats are giving me dirty looks. Pun totally intended. So today I put down my pen and pick up my broom (the one I sweep with, not to be confused with the one I use as transportation).

You will notice there is no picture of the house. No sense giving the prosecution any more evidence than I already have.