I started spring cleaning. Theoretically, it’s spring, which means I should be getting dirt under my nails and smelling like weeds and flowers. But it’s raining and raining.
So, I scrubbed the laundry room, the haven of muddy boots. I figure I’ve got 12 hours before you can’t tell that the floor’s been cleaned in months.
I oiled furniture so now the whole house smells like lemon oil.
Then, I got out the bleach. I’m a bit of a bleach fiend—my children have been known to yell, “Mom’s going crazy with the bleach again.” Yesterday, my son asked, “Did you bleach the kitchen counters?” Me (hoping he’d noticed their sparkling cleanness), “Yeah.” Son, “I thought so. I slurped milk that I spilled on the counter and now I taste bleach.” Me, “Sorry, I washed the counters with water afterwards.” Son (after spitting and rinsing his mouth), “I think my mouth is oxidizing.” Me (having no idea what that means), “Right.”
I sorted through the “computer crap,” the two boxes of weird cords and assorted disks labeled with names like Zeru. I put all the junk into a big paper bag and stuck it in the basement for a month. My thought was that if they hadn’t used something in a month, they wouldn’t need it. So I announced the eminent disposal of the computer crap that hadn’t been used in months. Talk about gnashing of teeth—you’d think I was announcing that we were getting rid of the dog. Hands went through the bag, removing “my favorite game.” And if that weren’t bad enough, now the bag itself has been stolen and hidden. So, I’ve learned my lesson…next year, I throw things out and don’t tell anyone.
|Photo courtesy of Wikimedia Commons.|