Skip to main content

Nothing Sacred--Not Even Dirt

I have had my house cleaned professionally. I probably should have done it a few years ago, but I felt like I should be able to keep my own house clean. I'm not sure why I thought that. Conditioning, I guess. My mother never had a housekeeper. She worked full time and still managed to do the vacuuming and dusting and laundry. She also took on the job of child labor organizer on Saturdays to get it all done, and I don't remember anyone ever spending any time with the detailed cleaning.

I do make an effort to sweep and dust and vacuum as I see the need--same with cleaning the toilets and the showers and ovens. I'm afraid, though, that I am just not observant enough to really do the job right. So, I finally broke down and hired a service. They did the first big cleaning last Friday, and it took them more than six hours. I have to say I was embarrassed when I arrived home after work, and they were still there.


They had just finished wiping off the tops of the kitchen cabinets, and the gunky dust bunnies were in a heap on the floor. I say "dust bunnies," but they were more like gremlins, given the length of time they had been allowed to evolve up there--out of sight, molting and growing and breathing new life. A year or so ago, I climbed up on the counter to see what kind of creatures were living up there with my chicken collection. It was shameful, so I cleaned off the surfaces, kind of. I left one section alone because Daughter No. 2 had quietly written the date in the dust--two years before. I decided to leave the space alone and to check on it once a year or so to see what happens to the top of a kitchen cabinet when it is left uncleaned for years and years.

Now, I will never know because the cleaning service wiped it off. Darn them for doing what they get paid to do. The farmer lady with the basket of eggs, the one who guards the cabinets, was not amused. Is nothing sacred? Can I not even have a square foot of kitchen grime to myself?

Comments

Sassy Sundry said…
My roommate just got us a cleaning service, as she doesn't like to clean. You could have eaten out of our tub the first time.

It made me feel a bit weird, but I like not having to do the heavy cleaning myself. And we are single women without children. Good for you!
dive said…
Good Heavens!
You "modern" women with your labour-saving devices and your slovenly ways. A cleaner? A CLEANER?

Get up on top of those kitchen cabinets with some olive oil and lemon juice. It cuts through the cack better than any commercial product.

Hee hee …
Sorry Robyn. Please don't hit me (OW!)
Anonymous said…
What exactly was your daughter doing up there?
The two little girls i used to look after decided to finger paint the kitchen floor years ago and left their little hand prints in paint as a reminder that they were there. I clear laquered over it and its still there today after seven years. I may have them do it again for comparison.
I used to have a woman clean my house, she did good work. But now I beleive in your moms method of child labor.
Gina said…
That last paragraph made me bust out laughing!
Mrs. G. said…
The tops of your cupboard are clean? Now you're just making the rest of us look bad.
Anonymous said…
Love it! I've been think the same thing lately - about having a professional cleaning company come in and give it one big once-over. I didn't have a problem when I was single but with a husband like M.B - the house just keeps filling up with "stuff". It takes me all week to clean my house and I'm still not finished! And then I have to start again. I don't think I'm slovenly but I'm sick of dusting and cleaning out the fireplace and wiping soot and ash off the "dust collectors". In my next life I'm having a minimalist house with no dust collectors at all.
PS A couple of weeks ago I bought a new, top of the range, Wurtheim vacuum cleaner. I wrestled with the damn thing for 2 hours yesterday and we only have carpet in 3 rooms.
mmmm i've had this a few times in the past. Money well spent i say. Can't really justify it at the moment so today, after some work, i have scheduled in my mind to don the gloves and get down to it. Ugh. Not my favourite activity.
I'm behind you all the way Robyn. It's the way forward. Professional cleaners are FAB - i think they should sell vouchers - i'd rather get those than some horrid ornament i don't like at Christmas. lol ! Oooh how i envy your clean house now (well mine's not filthy you understand, but it needs a going-over).
Maria said…
When I worked full time, I had a woman (would you believe I feel ashamed to say that I had a maid?) come in and clean once a week.

When I went down to part time, I had to get rid of all the extras, so I bid her a tearful farewell. And I have never missed anyone so much in my life.

I have trouble just keeping up with the dust, let alone conquering it.

Popular posts from this blog

No More Mr. Nice Guy

It's good to be a nice person--to say nice things, to do nice things, to write nice things--but I declare an end to the use of the word nice. Nice is what you say when you can't think of any other adjective. Someone shows you a picture of their back yard--that's nice. Someone tells you about their afternoon adventure--that's nice. Or someone describes their childhood in great detail and sometimes with painstaking effort--that's nice. It's a lazy word, and it's non-descriptive. Nice is like mashed potatoes with noodles and chicken gravy all in a big pile on one plate with some canned corn for garnish. Everything is the same color and texture and base substance--starch (this is a favorite Amish dish). Nice is like a partly cloudy day in April when outside feels like inside, and you can't tell a difference between the lighting and the temperature of your living room and the lighting and temperature of your front yard. Nice is a glass of lukewarm water. ...

Ish People

Tell an Ish person to show up around 9 a.m., and you'll see them somewhere around 9 a.m. Tell them to show up at 9ish, and you'll see them anywhere from 9:05 to 9:20. You have given them license to dilly dally, and who wouldn't take advantage of that? The other night at the big shindig dinner party, one of the drummers said the rehearsal the next morning would begin at 9ish. "I am an ish person," he says. Immediately the clanker goes off in my head--oh, good, I thought. I can deliver my daughter a little late. No Ish person is early, so if you say 9ish, that does not mean give or take 5, 10, 15 minutes. It's exclusively a taking phrase. Take an extra 10 minutes to drink your cup of coffee. We won't mind. We're Ish people. Sunday's rehearsal started at 2:00. Because it was conducted by the same people who conducted the Saturday rehearsal, my understanding was 2-ISH. My daughter is worse than I am about taking liberties with Ish time frames, so she d...

Long Live Anita Bowser

You know I occasionally check my hometown newspaper's website to scan the obituaries (morbid, I know, but I'm at that age). Over this past weekend, I read the obituary of Indiana State Senator Anita Bowser . She was a noted Democrat who championed causes protecting the neediest in the state's population. She was respected on both sides of the aisle for her intelligence and plain and outspoken approach to law making. The picture on her senate page is lovely. I remember none of those things about Anita Bowser . My first year or so in college was spent at a branch of Purdue University, and in the early 80s, Anita was a political science professor. She taught my American Government class my freshman year, and she was a mess. Somewhere in my old text book, I have a sketch of her drawn on a particularly dull day in class--her hose sagged at her ankles, her slip showed at least half an inch all the way around, her hair had been slept on but not brushed, and her bright red lip stic...