“I JUST cleaned the guest bathroom, please don’t use it!” I yell to the girls and my husband.
Napkins please. Shoes off, please. Use soap, PLEASE.
I was certain I was never going to sound like my mother, who seemed a bit over the top when I was little about making the house a mess. CERTAIN. 100% I was never going to sound like her. I was going to let my kids make messes. CERTAIN. And of course they could use the guest bathroom. What was it for?
Then I actually had children. And they made messes. And used the guest bathroom. And they thought they could just walk into the kitchen with shoes on. (That had been worn OUTSIDE.)
And now… I sound just like her. And I understand. I did not even think it was possible to spend hours vacuuming, washing, organizing, ironing, putting away, windexing and wiping and have it all come undone in matter of minutes. MINUTES.
I like to clean. It releases some of my stress, my anxiety. And ironing. I love to iron. There is something about wearing a shirt, skirt, dress or pants that have just been ironed, wrinkle-free. Like cleaning, ironing makes me feel more put together, more in control, in my crazy mommy-filled day of taking care of everyone.
I know exactly what my mother was doing. Now I understand. She was trying to maintain her sanity. Trying to make sure she wasn’t carted off by the men in white coats. Because really, who spends hours vacuuming, washing, organizing, ironing, putting away, windexing , wiping and then actually allow these little people who live with you to A) enter the house with shoes on, and B) use the guest bathroom.
My husband thinks I’m nuts about my guest bathroom and other cleaning rules. But I don’t think so. NOT AT ALL. I would have to be certifiable, nuts, completely crazy if I were to clean the guest bathroom, only to have it undone moments before guests arrive.
Now I understand why my mother was always yelling about not using the guest bathroom. My father also lived with us.