When I was a few years younger, single, and living on my own, I was a slob. This is a well known fact. I was horrible at cleaning out my fridge, my clothes were all over my apartment as well as papers, make up, etc. Nothing had a home of its own. It was perfectly normal to find my hairbrush on my kitchen counter, and a plate of nachos in the bath tub. (okay, not really, but you get the idea)
Somewhere in the last couple years, something happened. I grew up. Bought some nice furniture. Started to take a lot more pride in my home. No longer am I the single girl with empty wine bottles sitting above her kitchen cupboards. Gone is the girl who left butter knives on the counter for three days encrusted with peanut butter, or god knows what else.
Somewhere in there, I turned almost a little bit OCD with cleaning. Everything has its place now.
That sock? Does that sock go there? No, it doesn’t.
Hey, Dustin, I love the look of your bike magazines all over the floor. Looks awesome. PICK THEM UP!
Why is this calculator out again? I just put it away? (For the record, the calculator is Dustin’s best friend.)
I like clean. I like the smell of clean. Bleach, febreeze, dish soap, any cleaning products smell amazing to me. I like having a dust free house. No fingerprints on the walls. (Which is almost impossible when your spouse is a bike mechanic) No juice/coffee/bottle rings on the coffee table. No pay stubs, mail or flyers all over my tables, please.
And you know what? THIS IS FUCKING IMPOSSIBLE NOW with a baby. And I am coming to terms with it. I can’t be Martha Stewart anymore. I have to let the dust on my t.v build up for longer than 18 hours. That leftover rice in the fridge? It might just have to grow a few organisms on it before I have time to chuck it out. And my plants, my poor, poor plants. They might just be suffering, a little bit. (I am now cheating with Miracle Gro)
I’m coming to terms with all of this. The laundry. The dishes. Supper. (Kraft dinner again? Sarah, you’re a regular Betty Crocker.) My baseboards? Covered in dust, hair, and whatever else they seem to collect. I’m trying not to think about it. Trying not to think about all random crap all over the floor in our bedroom.
There are more important things in life now, and I’m okay with this. Things are in perspective now. Play with Lillienne, sing songs to her while she smiles, trace my fingertips along her cheeks, or run around my house with a dust rag and make sure the garbages or empty? Go for a long walk and watch my daughter take everything in, or vaccuum my carpets? Give Lillienne a bubble bath and then cuddle her for hours and stare into her eyes, or organize the storage room?
Easy peasy, lemon squeezy.