So, I'm Greek, right? It is in our nature to speak our minds (loudly), to cook with abandon (and without recipes, which is annoying) (needless to say, this gene skipped over me entirely), to spit on people in order to ward off evil spirits, and, in my family, to clean.
I was taught early on how to clean. My mother is a cleaner. Growing up, both her parents worked, so she and my aunt used to spend their Saturdays cleaning the house. They would each have "sides" of the house to clean, and, when they were done, they would invite the other over for tea. Or baklava.
It's real dedication when you can make cleaning a game.
After she married, my mother made it her life's work to keep a clean home for her family. She went to great lengths, including yelling (see: speak our minds (loudly)) at us to clean our rooms. After a while, we were so used to the yelling, she began to sound like Charlie Brown's teacher, bless her heart.
So, fine. Teaching me to clean didn't mean I listened back then. My room growing up was a disaster. I was a big fan of leaving piles of clothes on my floor all week. You couldn't even see the floor, it was so bad. And, on the weekends, I would heave the entire pile down the laundry shoot.
Saturdays were my mother's favorite day of the week. Yeah, not really (see: speak our minds (loudly)).
The summer I was 14, my mom and sister went to Greece for 6 weeks. Before Mom escaped, she left me strict instructions to clean the house, do the laundry, water the plants, iron my dad's shirts, etc. Basically be my father's and brothers' (and grandfather's) bitch for the next 6 weeks.
Let me tell you, boys are gross. And it really sucks to clean up after them all the time. They are not capable of aiming their little things at the toilet bowl. How hard can it be? My brothers were 16 and 12 at the time, so not children, but apparently not old enough to know when they dribbled on the BATHROOM FLOOR! Anyway, I was very grateful to my mother when she returned. I'll tell ya, I never cleaned the house as well as she did. The second day she was home, the house already looked and felt better. I knew then I was way out of my league.
20 years later, I still clean the way I learned at 14. Bleach and Lysol are my friends, not my enemies (even though I admit I hate when bleach gets on my colors and Lysol still reminds me of being sick). My friends constantly make fun of me for saying I have to clean. But, it is who we are. We clean. And since we're stuck in this winter wonderland from hell, I spent my day cleaning the house. Sweeping floors, dusting, washing clothes, cleaning dambathrooms. I feel so much better.
For the record? Boys are still gross. I share a home with my husband and 2 sons. I am outnumbered and scared to death of my boys becoming teenagers. I can't really get mad at my 5-year-old for missing the bowl... mostly because he doesn't use the master bath. And, in defense of my husband, he did offer to clean the toilets.
As much as I'd love to take him up on that, he also said he'd wash the floors and the shower weekly and those things are only done on holidays (like Leap Day). Plus, he'd never do a good enough job. No offense to him, I'd feel that way about anyone cleaning my house.
Well, except my mother. So, if she wants to come over to clean my bathroom, I'll be more than happy to let her. I have the bleach and Lysol waiting for you, Mom.
Mom? Please??
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