Housekeeping has never been high on my list. Before I was married, my mother laid out the sacred rules of homemaking. I decided early on that these rules were made to be broken, or at least tampered with. Knowing me as she did, I'm sure mother feared for the preservation of our Swedish family's reputation. This daughter was definitely not the one to preserve anything. I actually had a cleaning lady in a three room apartment.
That first apartment was a "make over" upstairs in an old Victorian house in Lima, Ohio. With each step the dust descended from the ceiling and rose from the rugs. I didn't own a vacuum cleaner in those days. I made due by running around and inhaling deeply. When I suggested this to the cleaning lady, however, she picked up her purse and headed for the door. I leapt in front of her, blocked the doorway and cried out, "Don't leave me. Where will I go, what will I do?" She was kind enough not to tell me she didn't give a damn and agreed to stay if I at least had a broom to use on those dust laden carpets.
As we were transferred from one place to another by my husband's company, the first thing on my list was to hire a cleaning lady. Hub couldn't understand why I needed all this help as his mother had washed walls, scrubbed carpets, and dutifully performed that gargantuan task---spring cleaning! Deliver me from all temptation to start that routine.
I always had an excuse to have hired help---pregnancy---new baby---pregnancy---new baby plus old baby, etc. This worked five times and then it was obvious the baby ploy had been run into the ground. So, I told my husband I had T.B.. No need to let him know that just meant tired butt. I got another cleaning lady.
Hub mentioned one day he had to go outside to see if it was night or day. Couldn't I ask the cleaning lady to wash the windows? I informed him I did that but the universal answer seemed to be, "I don't do windows". I presumed if she didn't do them, nobody did. He hired a window service.
My life has changed drastically in the last seven years. Hub1 went home to the Lord and now I have another Hub. This one is adamant about a clean house. We live in a retirement community where there's plenty of help, but Hub insists on shining up the kitchen, cleaning out the refrigerator and polishing the stove.
Me? I just push back into my lovely leather recliner, fold my hands over my tummy and drift off to sleep. Life is good.
Hub 2 has already written my epitaph when my time comes to go home.
This woman now is on her way
up to the promised land.
Old Nick awaits her patiently,
A broom and dustpan in his hand.