I love housework. I love things to smell of bleach, and pinesol. I love sparkling surfaces, and shiny faucets.
People always give me that look when I say it, but it is true.
I truly love doing housework.
So there is the rub.
I am rarely alone,
and when I have people teeming around me (which is how being part of a family feels sometimes), I feel tense and crazy.
When I had one child, I could deal better with all the logistical issues that surrounded say, finding enough alone time to clean the toilet.
Now if feels more than twice as hard.
And while I frequently blame my lack of sanity on having a second child, we all know about my high strung & nervous nature,
and there is also my husband to consider.
He is often milling around, like a vagrant, right at the moment I would like to vacuum. (who cares if it is 10:00pm, I saw crumbs under the sofa, I swear!)
Then there is the matter of our housemate- a messcat of elephantine proportions, if there ever was one.
Far worse than a toddler, with strewing papers around, dribbling coffee, and leaving smeary cheese coated finger prints over all the surfaces in the kitchen.
People (my mother the most vocal of all) are constantly telling me to lighten up, take it easy and lower your standards.
have you met ME?
My husband routinely tells me "it doesn't matter"
It matters to me SUCKER!
So each day, when my little one sleeps, I run around like a crazy person, cleaning all the little things that are driving me crazy, and for about 20 minutes, I have a drop of peace in my compulsive soul. I make myself a cup of cafe latte (in a giant, pristine, white Williams Sonoma cup, that I keep hidden in the back of the cupboard) and I wait for my son to come home and make footprints in the pile of the carpet.