Dear Sue,
I promised to tell you how to stop cleaning your house all the time…. Maybe you were kidding, but if you weren’t, here’s how I stopped. See you soon.
No, this is not my house. I have windows and a roof.
As you know, I traveled eleven days a month for work. Coming home to a house that looked like it was hit by a wrecking ball – a house I left spick and span – was worse than a nightmare – it was real. Tired and jet lagged, just walking in the door was enough to throw me over the edge. I turned into a whining, nagging, pitiful version of my former self.
I may not live in a castle like this, but I love my little house on the prairie.
Confused and hurt, I tried to sort out my feelings. I loved my family, but they were such slobs. Didn’t they love me enough to clean up a little?
My husband claimed that the house was clean – maybe not as clean as I liked it, but clean enough. He asked me why it mattered so much, why I had to come in and ruin an otherwise joyous homecoming?
Home Sweet home...beach inspired!
I didn’t know why, but it did matter. I couldn’t even sit down and read a book without seeing dust and jumping up to get rid of it. It was the same for me with dirty windows, unmade beds, plants that needed watering, etc.
Relaxing just wasn’t possible until it was all done.
- My garage and house – new addition on the right has tight windows and doors
What did I hate so much about housecleaning?
That I was always doing it and every day I had to do it all over.
Did I ever enjoy it?
Yes, sometimes I found it relaxing and grounding. I like my stuff. I like my house.
Batam Indonesia.
No, I don’t live in a perfect Sunset Magazine or Better Homes and Gardens house, but it is comfortable. I travel to some very poor countries. I am so lucky to have a roof over my head, especially a nice roof. I’m not out pounding our clothes on rocks. I have a washer and dryer. My house even has windows.
Our ranch is way out in the country. We don’t have close neighbors and we rarely have guests, so I wasn’t cleaning because I was worried about what people thought. Also, around here, the neighbors hate you if your house is perfect - it’s the opposite of keeping up with the Jones!
I live in the old family homestead, where Kevin’s mom was born. Kevin’s uncles remember shoveling out the living room after a dust storm. The family would move out for two or three days because they couldn’t breathe. Kevin’s Aunt Edna lived here before me and she dusted all the time, obsessed about cleaning this place.
Castles, white nights...all fairy tales.
We don’t even own our house, but I had new doors, windows, siding, a roof and air conditioning installed. My sanity was worth every penny spent. The place is still dusty. Better, but dusty. It is a small house, about 1800 square feet, and I have little knickknacks that collect dust, too. There is no way I will ever have a dust-proof house.
Besides, I don’t want to be obsessed about anything. Too many of the old captains at my airline were such little old ladies to fly with. They even cared how the copilots stapled the flight plan together.
I obviously had no control over my family, so I knew something needed to change in me. I decided not to clean unless I felt like it. I didn’t go on strike and decide not to clean. I changed my mindset.
A girlfriend of mine, Jayne, needed extra money and I jokingly told her she could help me clean my house. She was serious. Together we could get in clean in four hours, saving me four. Then she started coming in when I was on trips, or just before I got home. She knew how I liked my house.
Kevin didn’t see why we needed someone to clean. He always said I was overly neat – guy language for “I don’t want to do it and I don’t want to waste money paying someone either.”
The truth is, I would pay double for house cleaning…I would even skip lattés if I needed too.
I began to mellow out some. At night I started pushing the baby toys into a corner. Then, when Jayne had sick kids or couldn’t come, I started thinking, Oh well, she’ll be here next week, and I would sit down and read a book instead of cleaning.
I read a book called “Never Good Enough” by Monica Ramirez. I took the quiz in it first and found I was an ‘inwardly focused perfectionist.’ At least I wasn’t overly critical of others…just hard on myself. My mom and uncle are perfectionists, and my grandmother was, too.
The book said perfectionists are rarely happy. They rarely experience joy. Something inside me snapped. Joy is something I really want and need in my life. I had been reading books about being grateful and happy and easier on yourself. You can’t be happy when you are always beating yourself up.
Who wants their tombstone to read like this??????
Now I try to spend less than thirty minutes a day cleaning. My house is a source of joy and peace,not another headache. Thank goodness I have a small house – I can be done cleaning in even less time.
Here’s a typical morning at my house. The kids are off to school. The kitchen is already clean – my husband empties the dishwasher in the morning, the kids put their breakfast dishes in it. And the kids did the dinner dishes including pans and counters. The trash is full, so I grab the desk wastebasket and zip from room to room, emptying the cans into it instead of taking each individual one to the kitchen. Kevin takes the trash outside.
I get dressed and make my bed. Yes, the kids made theirs. The clothes hamper is full, so I start a load of wash. I spritz the counter in the bathroom after I do my hair and makeup – the cleaner and rag are right under the bathroom sink, along with the toilet cleaner, Comet and Woolite.
The living room has a load of laundry on a chair. I fold it, take it to the right rooms, and put mine away. The kids will fold the other load when they come home. A little straightening – the stray blanket that needs folding and a misplaced pillow. Clean house…clean enough. In less than I thought, too – twenty minutes.
Don’t get the idea that this is effortless. It took years to train the kids. They grated cheese, peeled potatoes and browned hamburger for dinner. They vacuumed (reluctantly) and washed windows. They always complained. Most of my friends claim it is more trouble to “train” their kids than it is worth. In the short run, yes. In the long-term, no. I wouldn’t be doing my kids any favors if I didn’t teach them help around the house, to take some responsibility for their environment. I’m hoping that the organizational skills they learn at home will help them deal with a very complex world. When they know what is expected of them, there isn’t as much grumbling or fighting. Oh, the kids feed the animals, too.
Just cats and dogs. (Darcie: "Kebin don't hab no cows.") or pigs, or horses!
My husband helps out more all the time. I take what I can get – the trash, dishwasher and a load of wash, and I’m thankful for it. I have had to lower my standards over the years – things aren’t always done “my way.”
The decreased stress and increase in energy (mine) made the compromise well worth it.
There are times I do like to clean – if I put some good music on and go at my own pace, puttering. Its meditation; a hobby of sorts.
That voice in my head is still there sometimes…that gremlin that is always finding fault with something. I’m better about ignoring it or shutting it up – it goes away eventually. And my house is still cleaner than most people’s, even at its worst.
None of this is news. Nothing earth-shaking. Just common sense. I just don’t want to be a martyr, holding my house to perfectionist standards that no one really cares about.
I had to laugh one day when I heard my son grumble to his sister, folding a load of laundry after school, “Why didn’t Mom do these? What has she been doing all day? Her stinkin’ art, that’s what.”
He was right. What do I do all day? Whatever I want to!
My guest room!
So, what do you think, Sue? Want to come visit? I promise I won’t clean up for you…well, not much anyway.
Love, Kathy
P.S. Getting rid of stuff – not hoarding, helps too :)
