He's no Mr. Clean

I've always prescribed to the school of "why make your bed if you're just going to get it all messy later." I'm not a slob, I just tend to make more of a fuss over rooms that are more likely to be frequented by guests. Being married, my bedroom is not one of those rooms. I do, however, love the feeling of a freshly made bed, with clean sheets right out of the dryer, and a comforter you could bounce quarters off of. I get that same level of satisfaction from newly mopped floors, a sparkling bathtub, a range that does not remind me of my past week's menu, and newly reorganized closets. My husband, I've decided, does not.

For the last week or so he has been sick with what I've deemed a nasty cold. Add to that my 7 week bout with morning - eh em, all day - sickness, and cleaning hasn't exactly been a priority. Until now. For this weekend, we are having company. Tomorrow is my former roommate from college. Needless to say, she knows how I live. No need to fuss. Sunday, though, is my husband's entire immediate family. All 5 of 6 of them. Oddly enough, with all of my neuroses, feeling as though I have to impress my in-laws with a spotless house is not one of them. However, if you recall, my mother-in-law is currently undergoing chemotherapy and really shouldn't be exposed to sick people or germs - like my hubby. Needless to say, the disinfecting began today.

In my current state of being, I'm not supposed to use any harsh chemicals. So, I delegated all surface cleaning to my husband, and I took on the task of putting things away, dusting, and vacuuming. Normally, these chores are switched, but everything is ass-backwards now anyway.

For most of the morning, I slaved away in the living room and bathroom. I Swiffered, folded blankets, reorganized my medicine cabinet (I even threw away expired vitamins!), and tortured my dog with the root of all evil, a.k.a. the vaccum. In the end, my portion of the house was spic-and-span! That oh-so-clean feeling was just oozing out of my pores.

And then my husband came in from walking the dog and tromped all over my newly mopped floors with his dirty shoes. Not only did he leave footprints, but he left half-footprints once he realized he was messing up the floors and began walking on his tip-toes. His "ah-ha" face was quite precious actually, but come on!

I know that the moral of the story is not that I shoulnd't clean. I am, however, back to not making my bed.