My momma cleaned house seven days a week. Well, maybe not all seven, but at least six of the seven days she was cleaning up something. She had a set day every single day of doing something. Dusting, vacuuming, cleaning the bathroom, mopping; you get the idea. The house I grew up in was clean.all.of.the.time. You could literally come to my house and eat off the floor. Not that I would recommend it, but you could have. You never walked around and got crumbs on your feet/socks. You would never step in a wet spot from splashed water or a melted ice cube. And you would never see a ring in the toilet, tooth paste crust in the sink, nor would you see dust on any surface or have to worry about dust bunnies running across the floor.
My house is completely different. Although I do have OCD when it comes to everything having a place that it belongs in. I could care less if there is dust on a surface so thick you could write you name in it. And although I hate to see it, tooth paste crust will usually make a weekly appearance. And my counter tops in the kitchen are normally littered with a spoon with dried cold coffee, from the morning and there are always dishes in my sink, even though we have and use our dishwasher. I just don’t keep my house clean like my momma.
Now, in my defense I could say that my mother didn’t work outside the home. Although I do work outside the home, it’s only part time. I have plenty of time every day when I come home before getting the girls from school to clean house. But, I don’t.
That’s where my title comes in. Every Sunday, I get up and we clean house. By we, I mean mostly me. Kayla has her chores now that she’s 13. Her room, her/guest bathroom, and now the den are all her responsibility when it comes to dusting, vacuuming, sweeping, mopping, etc. The rest of the house and the laundry is mine. Kelsie does clean up and organize her room and closet and Zack will help when I ask him too. But every Sunday afternoon without fail, I look around and see how everything is dust free, the bunnies have been wrangled up and disposed of until the next week and the sinks are gunk and grime free. It’s all peaceful and reminds me of my chlid hood. :-) So I know every Sunday my Momma’s proud of me!
1 comment:
I remember when I was little scrubbing the walls and trim once a month along side my siblings.
My dad was the clean freak and past that gene onto me.
When I developed severe chronic pain I wasn't sure how I would be able to maintain my standard of clean. Sometimes it meant hiring a housekeeper, asking the son and hubby to pitch in or adapting to my cleaning to my restrictions.
These days I no longer work so I can break up task throughout the days of the week.
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