I want to empty the laundry basket that sits at the top of the stairs. I want to scrub the toilets, de-clutter the book shelf in the school room, file the bills, clean out the fridge, wash all the dishes and vacuum out the couches. It also wouldn't hurt to wash the (many) hand printed windows, sweep the front porch, sweep under the rugs, finish unpacking the boxes in the garage, scrub the tubs or put away the six -crafts in progress- that occupy the table in the school room. I haven't even mentioned the mountain of laundry (a constant thorn in my side) that is in the basement, or the boxes in my closet that I have successfully neglected for two whole months!!!
But alas, the baby is sick and only wants to be held. I must oblige.
The last time she came, we had only lived here for a week, so I didn't feel a whole lot of pressure. But this morning when I got up and realized that Mike had mopped the floors, cleaned up the breakfast mess, washed the fronts of the cupboards and washed all the dishes, it occurred to me that he wanted the house clean when she came. He didn't say that, but I knew.
The woman of whom I speak has one (grown) child. She has two dogs, a husband and an immaculate house. When we visit her, she follows the kids around with a paper towel in her hand, mopping up whatever drool, mud, water, pee, juice (or whatever they might spill) the second it hits the floor. This same woman was appalled that I had a bunch of women (angels) over from church to help me fold laundry the week before I had Audrey. I was desperate, so I pleaded for help. Help I received. This same woman washes, dries, folds and puts away (all of) her laundry in the same day!!! Surely you can appreciate why I am embarrassed when she comes to visit. The last time I did that was when it was just Mike and I. She never came to visit us back then. This same woman never has cobwebs in her basement, trash in her car, dirt in her garage (seriously, she sweeps it daily), finger prints on her windows, crumbs in her couch, water spots on her faucet, dishes on her counter or an unmade bed.
True, it's something to aspire to. I do, I love a clean house. It just never works out that way. Her hobby is cleaning. My hobby is kids. Surely she will (won't?) understand.
Sigh. See you tomorrow, Nana.