Confession: prior to houseguests coming over for Derby, we hired a housecleaner. It finally occurred to me at some point over the past year that THAT is why everyone else's house is so much tidier and everyone's baseboards gleam brighter. Few people volunteer the information, but most of you seem to have someone who comes through a couple of times a month and cleans the house. So after years of crying and trying and wasting valuable writing time with a duster, we hired a professional.
He was here for over eight hours, and the house was sparkling when he left. It made me realize that our place -- though because of its age will never quite have the clean, crisp lines that new homes have -- can actually be clean sometimes.
Now it's been two months since he came, and I miss him desperately. The dust wins. This morning I just about cried while looking under our bed for a library book and seeing the bunnies who have revived their former home there. How does that happen anyway?
I guarantee you if I ever even had eight straight hours to focus on cleaning the house, I wouldn't get even half of it done. I'd start organizing books, or making a Goodwill pile, or whining that something needs fixing, and eventually end up with more tears and half-clean dining room. Not a good use of my day. And so ... I'm calling in the professionals again.