A Clean House

Some days, I think I should rename this blog to "I Understand my Mother Now". How she managed to keep us un-buried from all our assorted toys, clothes, papers, and other assorted stuff with 8 entropy generating factories (7 children and one Father... love you Dad, but you know it's true) is honestly amazing to me. I mean, we were slobs. Every one of us. And there were SEVEN children. I have one. ONE. He barely walks, and we keep him mostly confined to two rooms in the apartment. And yet... the mess... it builds...

We managed to keep it from looking like this, but how Mom did is a wonder...

This weekend, Husband and I significantly rearranged the apartment, swapping our bed for the futon. Imp seems to sleep so much better in his own room, and we were getting serious old-person-aches from sleeping on the futon mattress, so we decided that as odd as a queen bed in the living room might look to outsiders, it was well worth the weirdness to have a comfortable night's sleep. Of course, moving such large pieces of furniture means you find all sorts of nasties that have been hiding -- as I commented to Husband about one of the dust bunnies "I didn't know we had another cat."

They were everywhere...

Imp was out with Aunt Nanny while we rearranged and cleaned, and we managed to get the place in some semblance of order, at least for the bedroom and the living room. But it was really only those two rooms. We have issues with the others. The kitchen, despite Husband's best efforts, always seems like it's struggling to empty all of it's cupboards onto the counters and table and cover them with food; the bathroom, despite my best efforts, is a long term refuge for soap scum; let's not even get into the dining room table or desk. Those two horizontal surfaces, strategically placed in the center of the apartment, are often chest high in mail, Amazon.com shipping boxes, pacifiers, socks, and whatever else finds it's way there (currently there is also a sewing machine, which I have manged to practice on, but not actually gotten to using for it's intended purpose). 

Kinda like that...

I used to not care. My bedroom as a child was typically one of the most disastrous. But somewhere in my mid-twenties, I developed a need to have clean space to work and live. Maybe it was because I started entertaining people. Maybe it was just that I finally got tired of wading through clothes on the floor to get out my bedroom door. Whatever it was, I really started liking having clean living space. When I moved in with my Husband, we managed to keep the place relatively clutter free, and frequently had people over. Now, I live in fear that a friend will stop by and want to use the bathroom. People have suggested splurging on a maid, but I don't really think most cleaning services deal with clutter, which is a good portion of my problem. My mother always said "a place for everything, and everything in it's place". I really do try to follow that mantra, but where did she ever find the time, especially once she started working again when I was in high school? Again, I only have ONE kid. How did she do it with SEVEN? 

I'm sure she longed for this kind of discipline.

So, Mom, I now understand one more thing about why you got so frustrated with us when we didn't clean our rooms. I am in awe of how the house managed to stay as clean as it did. I apologize for my part in the entropy. We have already started trying to train Imp that cleaning up his toys can be fun. Maybe, we can instill a love of a clean living space in him before he's in his 20s. I'm sure you tried, Mom. Entropy is not our friend.