I am not your average domestic goddess. I find household chores very tedious and perceive ironing as the highest form of torture. Despite the effort I put into complaining about the cleaning and rating it somewhere close to pulling teeth, at the end of the day (literally), I still do it. Obviously someone has to. So, while this is not something I am particularly proud of, I have come to be rather good at tidying our home. Or so it looks on rare occasions, when I awaken my inner, otherwise deeply hidden domestic goddess. She is definitely not for the everyday use and the daily routine of picking things up and putting them into their rightful place. Along with spring cleaning my inner domestic goddess graces us with a visit on these special occasions:
Let’s kick it off with the mother of all cleaning, which of course occurs the moment you find out about the impending visit of the mother in law. It basically involves stripping the house bare, meticulously cleaning everything she might see, which is probably a lot, no stone should be left unturned. It also means kids are forbidden to play with anything but books and nobody is allowed to use the kitchen until she arrives. With other guests the routine is a bit looser and it might only require hiding things, especially if the visit is on a short notice. But my friends know better than to come without a proper announcement.
While I call it cleaning, it appears more like a hurricane on the collision course. Combine feeling sorry for myself with being utterly annoyed by everything and then apply it to the home where everything is pretty much always out of place. Until I basically purge the house clean. Well, that is how it works.
This is basically not cleaning at all. Honestly this is just day dreaming. Because imagine winter and days of being stuck indoors with kids who think boredom should be forbidden and one can always find something to do. If nothing else then trying summer clothes. Every night when I finally put them to bed, I vow to myself that tomorrow will be different. I will set a plan on keeping our house tidy in motion and everyone will help out. The next morning I vaguely remember that I had a really nice dream and get back to put things where they belong.
Rare just like a Halley’s Comet this type of cleaning only appeared twice in my lifetime. But speaking from experience it’s purification in its highest form. I think that was the only time since we live in our house that I’ve cleaned and checked it all and ironed everything didn’t actually move.
Call it a bit of OCD, but the only way I can truly relax, is if my surroundings look nice. Yes, I am weird. When I know the kids will be gone for a few hours, I first have to clean a place, for no other reason but for me to enjoy it. It’s usually just the living room, who cares what is lurking behind the corner, as long as I don’t see it. And then I light up a candle and do yoga on a crumb-less floor, or I just turn on some music and read a book while marveling at the quiet. And enjoying our pretty home.