This is going to be a bit stream of consciousness. I am on the exhausted side.
Y’see, I’ve been cleaning for the last five hours.
Oh, quit yer laughing. I got 2 (two!) rooms done. That’s it.
My family are pigs.
Most specifically, my darling daughter is a screaming slob.
I am so tired of the eye-rolling, deep in her personal fable, egocentric, poor pitiful sweetie, everybody1 always picks on me, Cindarella ..thing.2
I had hoped that by adopting an abridged and not nearly so neurotic Fly-Lady inspired schedule of cleaning, that keeping house wouldn’t be so difficult. That we wouldn’t have to do the all-day Saturday scrubkriegs of my youth.
I had further hoped that by mostly keeping my nose out of her room she would keep it…well, if not as clean as I’d like, at least not filthy.
Apparently, I was just flat wrong about that. Even my basic rule of No Eating/Drinking in there means nothing. I pulled out several cups, bowls, plates, and utensils out of her bedroom. There is some sort of organic…stuff?… on the bottom of her trash bin.
I can recall my parents telling me that “this isn’t a hotel, we aren’t your servants” when I was a kid. I also recall my room being neater, my attitude being less Woe Unto Me, and less generally unhygienic.
But mayhaps that is just the lens of long years clouding my hindsight.
I’ve tried bribery, firmness, marshmallow-y sweetness, boundary setting, grounding. What I have left is embarrassment.
I’ve gone into her room and taken several photos of the mess that it currently lives in. Also her bathroom. I had scrubbed it a week or so ago, and asked her to keep it clean(ish). You can bet I was more than a bit shocked to find it in the condition I did today.
I am going to post this one picture (of the bathroom) so that y’all have an idea of the order of magnitude of slop we are talking about.
I still have so much left to do.
But every time I move a piece of furniture or pick up something to clean under it3, I find piles of trash. Food wrappers. Dirty socks. Plates. Glasses with milk going sour in them. Clean clothes mixed in with dirty clothes.
All of this, on top of the Attitude that I get whenever I ask her to do something around the house has me full on furious.
Going to go blow up zombies for a bit. Drink some tea. Calm down.
This being human is a guest house.
Every morning a new arrival.
A joy, a depression, a meanness,
some momentary awareness comes as an unexpected visitor.
Welcome and entertain them all!
Even if they’re a crowd of sorrows,
who violently sweep your house
empty of it’s furniture,
still, treat each guest honorably.
He may be clearing you out
for some new delight.
The dark thought the shame, the malice,
meet them at the door laughing,
and invite them in.
Be grateful for whoever comes,
because each has been sent as a guide from beyond. –Rumi
1 – And by “everybody” she means anyone who asks her to do anything in this house. 2 – If you read that in this style, then I did it right. Or write, as the case may be. 3 – As you are *supposed* to do.