Christmas is looming like a crazy dark cloud - so much to get done in so little time. It's a surprisingly short gift purchasing "season" as Thanksgiving fell rather late this year. I have two more scarves to knit, four that are done that I need to finish (bind the final tied-off string into the edging), lots of presents that still need to be purchased AND we need to overhaul and clean the house before my parents arrive on the 23rd.
Our house is a MESS. And I don't mean that the way lots of people do when there's a few things laying around and dust on the windowsills. I love going to someone's house and they're all "oh, this place is such a mess - I'm so sorry!" Girl, you don't KNOW mess. I think if these people had to live with me, they would have to change their frame of reference for what "clean" is. =)
I am a slob. This is no secret. I try to keep things picked up and nice, but inevitably I end up with piles of clothes all over the bedroom floor, stacks of receipts and mail on the kitchen table, and socks littering the family room. It's just who I am. I'm sure, to my mother's horror, that many would assume that my behavior is because I was not made to do chores or have responsibility for cleaning my own space growing up. This is not true. I am pretty sure that, subconsciously, my need for clutter is in direct response to my mother continually riding me to clean up after myself as a kid. While I do enjoy having things neat and clean, I have to admit, I LOVE clutter. Not too much (though that's very subjective), but there's something about having things thrown about that makes me comfortable.
That said, this habit of mine drives Scott crazy, especially during weeks like the last couple we've had where it seems like we're never home, and therefore there's not any time to devote to cleaning up. I don't understand women who make time for cleaning, or give up doing something fun in order to clean. I would much rather live my life and make memories than have a sparkling kitchen floor or dust-free surfaces. I like to think that a cluttered, lived-in house means that those people have too much fun to concern themselves with tidyness.
When I was growing up, the day before we went somewhere for more than one night, my mom would make a big deal about cleaning the house before we left. I never understood that, though I have since married a man who has a tendency toward that same need to "come home to a clean house". Why? It's not clean when we're here, what's the point of it being clean when we're not? So the burglars can find things more easily? I like to at least pose a challenge to them. This goes right along with the battle over making the bed. I happen to LIKE getting into an unmade bed. It's like a nest and it's comfy, and frankly. it's a mess when you sleep in it, why bother making it look nice, just to mess it up again? I understand the appeal of slipping between fresh, crisp sheets, but I just don't have time for all of that. I remember my mom in the morning smoothing the blankets down when she was still in bed, and saying that way she could just roll out and it would already be made. Please.
I am a creature of habit, and that habit is dishevelry. And, apparently, wordsmithery.
So, even though I keep saying "we should start now and do a little each day", I know it will end up being a race around the house the day before they arrive sort of job. If it were up to me, my parents would just come and subsist in the sloth that I call my daily life, but Scott isn't having that, and I know I would get the "raised eyebrow" from my mom, so clean I will - though don't expect me to be dusting and windexing. I'll leave that to the crazy people.