My house is always a bit of a disaster – mainly because my cleaning lady sucks. Most of the time, she barely finishes picking up clothes and toys before losing steam. Forget about actually scrubbing things. Oh sure, every once in a while the house gets a good cleaning and really sparkles – but very infrequently. She does stay on top of the dishes and the laundry, and she doesn’t let the bathrooms get out of control. But she just doesn’t have a consistent process. It’s all so haphazard. I’m honestly thinking about looking into bringing someone else in.
So I confess: I AM the WORST cleaning lady ever. I don’t know if it’s because I don’t have the time or if it’s because I have so little time that I don’t want to waste it on cleaning. I work five days a week, so I’m limited to evenings and weekends. And I feel like I should spend that time doing something far more meaningful like playing with my children or writing or watching Project Runway reruns. So I do the bare minimum – and it shows.
Ironically, I am somewhat fastidious by nature. I rarely leave clothes on the floor (unlike my husband) and I can be a little obsessive about the tasks I actually do complete. For example, my bed must be made a particular way. I like the covers to be tucked and straightened, and I have to smooth out any wrinkles on the matelassé coverlet. And of course the pillows must be neat and symmetrical. My husband has lived with me for nine years, and he has of yet to learn how to make the bed without me having to fix it. While he has definitely improved, his early attempts were akin to what I might expect my two year old twins to manage if they tried to do it. So yes – I can be a bit of a perfectionist.
Maybe that’s why I don’t like cleaning. Because I can’t just do something half way. Reorganizing a shoe holder might result in a complete closet overhaul. (It’s happened.) So instead I just put it off as long as possible. Another good example of this is vacuuming. My floors don’t even warrant the five second rule (more like the five nanosecond rule). I think I’ve written once before about how I caught myself saying to my son, “you can’t be naked – the floor is too dirty.”
The solution is either for me to get better at this or to make some sacrifices and hire a cleaning service. I’d like to say that I’m reluctant to pay for a service because I’m cheap or because I’m nervous about having strangers in the house. But that would be a lie. The truth is that I’m embarrassed to have professionals come in and see what kind of slobs actually live here.
















