Just a bit over 10 years ago, during my senior year of college, I lived with five other outspoken ladies. We all had our strengths and weaknesses when it came to running the family household, and if you dare to believe it, my vigor was keeping the asylum home neat and tidy.
However, my super-clean-neat-freakishnish regularly ticked off the other gals. And now I understand why. I mean, who wants to wake up early the day after a raging kegger and start cleaning the smelly tenement swimming in 700+ Natty Light beer cans?
"Oh me, please me! Yeah, let ME do it!!!"
I imagine it was pretty annoying to hear me running the sweeper at 10am when the last of them just went to bed at 6am. Is it too late to say I'm sorry?
Because guess what? I've managed to come a full 180 degrees since those days. I think most women would have turned more toward domesticity, but yeah no I've turned my psychotic cleaning days around and now I totally don’t care! Well I wouldn't go so far as to say I'm some neglectful hoarder who knowingly leaves a mountainous mess in every room, but the random toys and daily drinking glasses and week's worth of work clothes on the floor in our bedroom just don't bother me anymore.
So why am I so indifferent now? I swear on most days it bothers Brian more than me, and that's just weird. I do still get my gung-ho days where my hands can't keep up with my feet and I'm sprinting around the house like the Queen is coming for tea. But most of the time, I don't even see the mess.
And what did I used to hear from my housemates in college? The ones who just sat there drinking Mt. Dew while I tried to clean up around them, frustrated at their lack of concern for the pigsty surrounding them? – "Melissa, you just see it first."
Hmm. True. I did. But not anymore.
Because now—instead—I see Mac. And how he loves to run around from toy to toy, and try it out for two seconds and then move on to the next one. Why would I pick them up? He's just going to pull them back out of the bins the minute I straighten up. And I work all week, and my time home with him is super precious. So the dishes can wait.
And honestly, no one but me notices the dog hair collecting in the corner, or the pile of laundry in the basement, or the extra leaves in our yard. Or the tiny fingerprints on all the doors about two feet up from the bottom. My mom always waits a day or two to wash them off her back door after a Mac visit. Such pensive little marks.
Folks, the Queen is surely never coming to visit. And any friend or family member who walks through our front door doesn't give two poos about our slight mess...because they have their own at home.
However, my super-clean-neat-freakishnish regularly ticked off the other gals. And now I understand why. I mean, who wants to wake up early the day after a raging kegger and start cleaning the smelly tenement swimming in 700+ Natty Light beer cans?
"Oh me, please me! Yeah, let ME do it!!!"
I imagine it was pretty annoying to hear me running the sweeper at 10am when the last of them just went to bed at 6am. Is it too late to say I'm sorry?
Because guess what? I've managed to come a full 180 degrees since those days. I think most women would have turned more toward domesticity, but yeah no I've turned my psychotic cleaning days around and now I totally don’t care! Well I wouldn't go so far as to say I'm some neglectful hoarder who knowingly leaves a mountainous mess in every room, but the random toys and daily drinking glasses and week's worth of work clothes on the floor in our bedroom just don't bother me anymore.
So why am I so indifferent now? I swear on most days it bothers Brian more than me, and that's just weird. I do still get my gung-ho days where my hands can't keep up with my feet and I'm sprinting around the house like the Queen is coming for tea. But most of the time, I don't even see the mess.
And what did I used to hear from my housemates in college? The ones who just sat there drinking Mt. Dew while I tried to clean up around them, frustrated at their lack of concern for the pigsty surrounding them? – "Melissa, you just see it first."
Hmm. True. I did. But not anymore.
Because now—instead—I see Mac. And how he loves to run around from toy to toy, and try it out for two seconds and then move on to the next one. Why would I pick them up? He's just going to pull them back out of the bins the minute I straighten up. And I work all week, and my time home with him is super precious. So the dishes can wait.
And honestly, no one but me notices the dog hair collecting in the corner, or the pile of laundry in the basement, or the extra leaves in our yard. Or the tiny fingerprints on all the doors about two feet up from the bottom. My mom always waits a day or two to wash them off her back door after a Mac visit. Such pensive little marks.
Folks, the Queen is surely never coming to visit. And any friend or family member who walks through our front door doesn't give two poos about our slight mess...because they have their own at home.
And I promise I won't look if you don't.
This post was funny, but also so sweet that it gave me goosebumps! Loved reading it!!
ReplyDelete(...your mom always waits a day or two to wipe away Mac smudges...makes me want to cry)