Houseguests and Cleaning The countdown begins
Apr 17 '00
Every 3 to 4 months my parents travel halfway across the country to see their little tornado of a grandson up close and personal. For only a brief 4 day visit, it can really turn our household upside down for about a week. My mom’s house is spotless. I never see her clean yet it always remains that way. My house, on the other hand, attracts dust like a magnet, and my mom, whenever she visits, seems to feel obligated to help rid me of this pestilence. Therefore, every time they come to visit I hope that this time it will be different. I will have the perfectly clean house…
When I receive the message on voice mail that my parents are indeed coming, I do not hear my mom’s pleasant voice but instead something similar to:
<<<insert Mission Impossible theme song here…>>>
“…Your mission, if you choose to accept it, is to clean your home from top to bottom, inside AND out, making sure to move each and every piece of furniture while cleaning, trap every dust bunny, organize every drawer, cupboard, and medicine chest…”
For days before my parents are due to arrive, I become a neurotic, bordering on psychotic, crazed cleaning machine on a mission. These are not Marine drill sergeants I tell myself. I will not be forced to complete a gazillion pushups if the canned goods are not alphabetized. These are my parents who have raised me from birth. They know my strengths and capturing the ever-elusive dust bunny just is not one of them…they accept that. Nevertheless, I am upstairs, downstairs, and underneath the stairs. I mop, I dust, I vacuum. I mop, I dust, I vacuum. I mop, I dust, I vacuum. (See a trend forming here….??)
A typical scene at our home before my parents arrive…
2AM in the kitchen…
“Honey, why are you reorganizing the spices?”
<<mumbling>> “…parents coming…only 18 hours to go…”
“WHY are you organizing the spices??”
<<mumbling>> “…gotta have everything ready…”
“Ok, dear. Try to get some sleep soon.”
“SLEEP?!?! Who has time for sleep?!? Clean the lint trap in the dryer for me will you???”
My family ceases to recognize me. My son points at me and asks his daddy to identify the strange looking woman who is in the bathroom scrubbing the toilet. My husband no longer sees his adoring wife when he comes home from an inordinately long day at work. Instead he finds a mini cyclone barreling through the house armed with Mop N’ Glo and Windex.
On the morning of the fateful day I go through the house one more time for a final inspection…
I see a pile of black fur the size of a large Chihuahua in the middle of the den rug. Apparently, my dog thinks that today is the perfect time to begin shedding his winter coat. Mounds of hair drop off his body as he gets up from his doggie bed and traipses through the house leaving a trail as he goes. Doesn’t he think to get the dustpan?? After all, it is under the sink right next to his dog treats…
I walk up to my son’s bedroom hoping that his Star Wars comforter is at least still on the bed and most of the toys are put away. My son, thinking the dog has the right idea that it is fun to torture Mom on this day, has decided to duplicate New York City with his wooden blocks. 200+ blocks of all shapes and sizes are strewn across the floor with all 106 matchbox cars in the nooks and crannies of the metropolis. I arrive just in time to see him recreate something out of a Godzilla movie as a giant Buzz Lightyear tramples through the city destroying everything in his path. So much for a clean room…or a masterpiece of a cityscape to show the grandparents…
My parents finally arrive at our house as I am chasing down my son who now has spread his peanut butter covered fingers all over the den windows. (Note for the future – never allow him to have peanut butter and jelly an hour before the grandparents arrival) The rounds of hugs and kisses are made, and my son runs off to show them his latest antics. It is a pleasant two hours or so of chitchatting and a chance finally, after days of cleaning, to sit for a moment to possibly relax. I leave the room for a just a minute, and when I return I see my mom standing on a stool cleaning the ceiling fan….what is going on?!? Being vertically challenged at a mere 5’2”, the tops of the ceiling fan blades are not something I tend to see on a daily basis (thus easily forgotten). I do need to remember them, however, the next time our NBA friends come calling.
Throughout their entire visit I have to fight with my mom over the vacuum and other miscellaneous cleaning equipment. “Mom, this is a vacation…you really don’t need to clean my house…” “No mom, I don’t remember the last time the drip pans were cleaned under the fridge, but I’ll write it down for things to do next week.” “Wouldn’t you like to visit Seattle, Mt Rainier, ANYWHERE instead of rearranging the furniture?”
Well, my parents have just left and once we were able to get them out of the house we had a wonderful time; the cupboards are still in fairly good order and the dying NY metropolis has been cleared from my son’s room…care to come to Washington for a visit??
For those of you who live with someone like me, take comfort in knowing that you are not alone. My husband and son can sympathize with you…completely. Oh, and one more thing…for your sanity, just clean that lint trap. ;o)
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saprswife
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