People were popping over to visit in an hour. This wouldn’t normally be a problem because these people know me and love me anyway. But it’s the school holidays, which means that any cleaning I may actually strive to do was only going to be undone by the three ratbags I gave birth to. So, I don’t tend to do it. It is me we’re talking about, after all. However, I am trying really hard to improve my status as effective housewife and I had made a decision that in the hour left to me, I had time to get two things done really well, allocating them 15 minutes each, before I would HAVE to jump in the shower. That’s right it was 10am and I was still in my jarmies. It is me the school holidays we’re talking about, after all.
So, I put the timer on the microwave for 15 minutes and I set to clearing the sink and the kitchen benches and I managed to clear, clean and put the dishwasher on before the timer went. WOW, I felt good. I felt efficient, I wanted to sit down and celebrate with a cup of tea, but I stuck to my plan, set the timer and completed another 15 minutes before DING the timer went and I made my satisfied way to the bathroom.
Unfortunately, I then got completely sidetracked by a plastic bag full of succulents, and reading some blogs that make me chuckle (Yo, Checkers!) and, bugger me, I had ten minutes to shower before the visitors arrived. I very luckily scraped it in, and was able to answer the door with all my clothes on the right way around, apparently saving my kids from further embarrassment (for now kids, for now).
We all made nice chat and sat at the kitchen and I made our visitors cups of tea in my clean kitchen, and smiled as they watched the dustbunnies of dog hair roll around their ankles. I brought the tea to the table and we admired the lovely autumnal view that could be made out through the noseprints on the glass door. If only I’d thought to change the tablecloth with last nights’ spaghetti bolognaise slurps stuck to it, but at least they were dry and our guests were in no danger of finding reciprocal stains on their sleeves. I noticed all these things, and yet I felt happy in the knowledge that I had cleaned like a demon, and while it was certainly, and unfortunately, not obvious to my guests, my whole microwave sparkled as brightly as my smug pseudo-housewifely face.
It is me we’re talking about, after all.