I freely admit that I’m a bit of a clean freak. Oh, I’m not so bad as to spend hours organizing cans in my cupboards so the labels all face the same direction. Well, not anymore. But I do have my little compulsions: polishing the kitchen counter several times a day, wiping down the bathrooms each morning, dusting the downstairs while my son eats breakfast and – now that I have a Roomba – keeping the floor spotless.

It’s not as hard as it sounds, as long as I adhere to a schedule. In fact, all that cleaning takes less than an hour a day. It’s when my schedule gets blown all to hell that things fall apart and what once took a mere hour turns into 6-hour late night marathon cleaning sessions just to get things back on track.

Yes, I know that most moms with preschoolers take it a bit easier on cleaning. And I know a lot of folks who live near a beach don’t freak out over salt rime and sand in their house like I do. I can’t help it – I’ve tried being more easy-going about this stuff, but that only lasts about 2 weeks. Then, as I look at the clutter and grime, my heart rate accelerates. My head starts pounding. The muscles in my face get sore from scowling, and suddenly I am happy about nothing – I mean nothing – in my life.

Turns out, I’m not the only one like that.

Wednesday, January 21st, 2004, 10:59 am   |   My Venomous Life  |  RSS feed Comments and pings are currently closed.