Cleaning gene.

I usually only write at night but I have found myself without much to do.  There are fifty-eleven things I should be doing.  The top of the list is running the vacuum around.  Amelia and I got home from dropping off Ella at school and I was tidying up the living room.  Amelia had gone into Ella’s room.  As I dug out the vacuum, I found Amelia curled up with her critters on Ella’s bed, totally asleep. 

This is significant for several reasons.  First, she put herself to sleep.  Second, she’s not in my bed; she chose Ella’s bed.  And third, I am totally kid free for the first daylight hour in I don’t know how long.

This fall has been a beautiful thing.  The days are warm and the nights are chilly.  I found my Mandarin Cranberry candle so my house smells like a little bit of heaven.  I always underestimate the power of a clean(ish) house.  I hands and knees pine-sol cleaned my kitchen floor.  For the first time since I moved here.  I’m a firm believer in the power of the Clorox ready mop and the swivel sweeper which is just a top-layer kind of cleaning.

Who am I kidding?  That’s all I want to do.  I know *how* to clean properly.  I just don’t often have the ambition.  I wish I could have gotten the cleaning gene.  It runs on my mother’s side of the family.  I am annoyed enough to be bothered but it takes forever to get off my ass and do it.  Then, when it’s done, I feel much better about things.  I sleep better.  The touch of crazy stays hidden.  The littles are even better behaved.  That part might be my imagination but everything feels that much better when it’s clean.

So what’s the big deal?  Why can’t I just do it?

If I had the answer to that, I wouldn’t be sitting here right now.  I’d be cleaning out my refrigerator.

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One thought on “Cleaning gene.

  1. That’s it. I have no cleaning gene, either. Unfortunately, Tom has a latent version, from his mother, so he gripes about the lack of clean, while I simply refuse to clean it. Mop floors? I simply don’t. Last time the kitchen floor was done was when Brody and Darwin got into a knock-down, drag-out, and I squirted them with the kitchen spray-thing till the floor was a shallow lake. I then foot-walked a towel over the floor to sop up some of the water. That’s my version of cleaning. But I agree, on the rare occasions I MUST clean (in-laws coming to visit), I do feel better. Just not better enough to go through that agony without a darned pressing reason!

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