Day 150
There’s something about spring
weather when you can throw open the window sashes and let the fresh air waft in
that makes me want to clean. Well
that and last week’s game of “find the Am Ex” that revealed dust bunnies the
size of house cats.
With Chaz traveling this week,
cleaning helps calm my nervous energy.
Plus, I love the idea of him arriving home from a late flight, walking
into a shiny, lemony-smelling house and rushing back to the departing cab
yelling “stop” because he’s got the wrong house.
I spend three hours and only get
two of the boys’ rooms clean. I
move furniture. Clean inside drawers.
Wash the floor underneath the
bed. Organize book shelves. Separate broken toys from working
ones. Man, my boys will be
surprised! Maybe they’ll chase the
bus driver and yell “stop” because they think she’s got the wrong house.
Anyone who knows me knows I’m
not a cleaner. I’m not really even
a picker-upper. I do it because
it’s my job and on occasion I like to see the floor. I may need to reconsider. Looking around, I have to admit there is something wonderfully freeing about
a clean, sparkly room.
F.’s room looks like a F4
tornado hit it and I close the door.
Tomorrow.
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