So did you know it snowed here today? No?
Well, it didn’t. I’m just a shitty housekeeper.
I’m a bit neurotic when it comes to cleaning. Moving in with Red and his filthy man tendencies was one of the most challenging things I’ve ever had to deal with–and I gave birth to a child with a 13 inch melon head. Every time someone visits our house, I get all OMGWTFBBQ I’VE GOTTA BLEACH THE FUCKING GROUT and scramble around trying to erase the evidence of our slovenly ways. Depending on who is coming over, I’ll either push a broom around half-heartedly then sweep whatever I pick up beneath the sofa table, or go full-on demon Stepford wife and scrub the underside of the oven hood. Really, the only thing in the house that I always make sure is clean is the guest bathroom. Because a clean bathroom? Means the rest of your house can be slightly filthy and no one will really notice.
Occasionally I get a wild hare to clean the entire house top to bottom, leaving no corner untouched. This usually coincides with a change in seasons. So last week as the birds were chirping and the weeds covering our front lawn grew another three inches overnight, I went on my bi-annual cleaning frenzy wherein the contents of all of our closets were regurgitated onto the bedroom floors.
Six loads of laundry and two days later, the crap I
threw away left on the side of the curb donated to charity weighed the same as an baby hippopotamus or approximately 1.6 million hummingbirds. The suspension of my poor little car sagged visibly when I hefted the bags into my trunk, and the little old lady who took my donation at Savers looked like she like she was going to cry. I think. I hauled ass out of the parking lot before she could giult me into helping her carry it all inside.
The one thing that escaped the Gestapo-like raid on household dirt was the ceiling fans. Except that it’s not so much that forgot about them. It’s more like I willfully ignored them, even though they all sported dirt beards that would make Zach Galifianakis look well-groomed. So when I turned the one in the living room up tonight, grey fuzzy chunks flew all over. One particularly large dust bunny hit Boo on the head and he sat there puzzled for a moment. Then a slow smile spread over his face and he was all, “Mama! Look! It’s SNOWING!”
Thanks, kid. But it’s a dry kind of snow. The kind that makes shitty snowmen.