2008-10-14

Yesterday, I decided to dust the china cabinet in our living room, the one hiding behind the couch so that toddlers (who are now kindergartners and presumable could restrain themselves) would not crash their giant heads into the glass. So I dusted it, then pulled out the couch. Then the ladies helped me dust the floor lamp, and the bottom of the cabinet. Then they helped me pick up the large things we found under the couch, and then I vacuumed. Also I vacuumed the lampshade. Then we replaced it all and vacuumed under the couch cushions. Meanwhile, the bathroom was safe under its layer of toothpaste and the kitchen floor remained sticky and spotted.
But my eyes keep going to that really clean lamp.

I told my husband today (as I was moving things to mop the kitchen floor) that I think that maybe I have our cleaning styles figured out. You see I think he is really a macro cleaner. He can look at a really messy room and just start cleaning, whereas I am a microcleaner. I need the room to be fairly clean, and then I'll do the details. He thought I was being insulting. I wasn't, I was just trying to say that I thought we worked well together. I think that he might be sensitive because one time I told him this story about a friend of mine. My friend is of my parents generation, and as such her husband did little or no housework. When the children were young, and she went back to work, things got a little overwhelming for her and one night she asked him to do something to help her. He asked what he should do and she looked around the kitchen, at the sink of dirty dishes, the messy counters, the piles of clothes to wash, at the dirty bathrooms and
said--anything, just pick something--it will all help. She came home from work to find that he'd washed all the throw rugs. My friend and I laughed really hard at this. Husband didn't think it was funny.

Seriously though, usually my husband is the one who will look at a whole house full of dirty and clean behind the couch. Yesterday, though, it was me. Maybe we're becoming more alike. Maybe one day he'll even mop the floor.

I've been sort of dreading this visit of my parents. And not because my house is a mess (which is sort of isn't any more) and not because I can't make beds--have I ever mentioned that according to my mother I do not know how to make a bed (guess whose fault that is)? Last year's visit didn't go that smoothly--mainly because I was pretty stressed out. This year we have to break our big Christmas news. Which dear readers, I'll fill you in on first. We don't really want to travel this Christmas. The ladies have a limited vacation from school--Dec 22 I think is the last day of classes, and they head back Jan 5th. I don't want to drive through the weather we've had in the past: ice, fog, snowstorms for two days to visit my mom (who have used up all their vacation so don't even think of suggesting we meet at say my brother's house or that they haul butt up here). I'm guessing this won't go over well. I'm guessing I'll be in the middle of all this tension.
I'm also dreading just having company. If it isn't clear from my writing I'm weary. I'm tired. I don't particularly want to have people staying at my house. Any people. This fall has just worn me to the bone, and I couldn't even say why. There's not one thing that I could point to that I could say--This, this has worn me out. No, it is the little things, the 10,000 tiny paper cuts of life. And as we know the tiny things add up.

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