While in my 20's, I had enough energy I could work full time and also be such a marvelous housekeeper you could have safely eaten off any surface in my apartment. Now in my 50's, I've long ago accepted the fact that I'm not Superwoman, cannot do both jobs, and am reasonably satisfied if it's safe to SIT on some surfaces in my house without cringing.
The thorough cleaning of the house before having my annual Christmas party disrupts my slightly grimy routine, however. It makes me remember how lovely a sparkling clean house is (particularly when Christmas lights are reflected in every shining surface). It makes me dream that it will stay this way.
It also leaves me with the list of things I didn't get to before the party -- taking each string of crystals off the chandelier and washing them instead of swiping them with a Clorox wipe; vaccuuming the one lamp shade I missed; Windexing the glass door on the entertainment center I forgot; etc. It leaves me wondering why I go slightly nuts. Why near deadline I was standing on a step stool cleaning tchotchkes on a high ledge in the bedroom instead of something more visible like bathtub ring. (And even then -- was anyone going to bathe during my Christmas party? Was anyone going to pull out a pair of white gloves and the step stool?!) I'm possessed when I go into deep-cleaning mode.
But anyway ... soon enough it will revert to life as usual. The cat hair and grime will waft down gently on all surfaces again, and about the only time I'll make my bed is when I change the sheets. And that won't happen often enough.
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1 comment:
cute. reminds me of my life. trying to do it all. having to lower my standards.
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