This is me, going to bed early the night before my surgery. Whoops!
Well, I was going to go to bed early. Really I was. I have to get up at, um, 5, I think, so as to have proper time to shower and shave anywhere that may need to be shaved because in spite of them only working on my boob I will doubtless be forced to don a hospital gown and have all my whathaveyou out flapping in the breeze (and for such an occasion, I violate my “I shave my legs once a month in the winter whether they need it or not” rule) and then arrive at the hospital early enough to change into said gown and sit around gnawing off my own fingers in nervousness and hunger because I can’t have anything to eat.
But then, um, I had stuff to do.
One facet of my particular brand of mental illness is that I am genetically unable to leave my house for a vacation or surgery without cleaning. It started out harmlessly enough–who wants to come home to a dirty house after a trip? No one. It’s always nice to come home to a clean place. Plus then I don’t have any annoying housecleaning to get in the way of not unpacking my bags for three weeks. Then when I had my tonsillectomy it was sort of like, “Well, I’m going to feel like crap, so I should probably do some cleaning before I go in.”
By the time I got to my hysterectomy, it was more like, “Well if I die, I would hate for someone to come in here and see all these dustbunnies. I’d better vacuum before I go.”
Tomorrow is a minor procedure so I’m not, technically, motivated by potential post-mortem embarrassment; but still, I feel the need to tidy up beforehand. And I thought I’d have all day to get things done.
But then Chickadee came down with a cruddy cold and pretty much needed to spend the day languishing on the couch and watching cartoons and snuggling with me. And my little prickly cactus of a girl? Never wants to snuggle. So it wasn’t like I was going to say, “Sorry, Mama has to go mop now.” Nope. I snuggled. I did do some laundry, and I sewed some patches on her Tae Kwon Do uniform (which took about four hours because I’m a terrible, slow hand-sewer and it’s really hard to adequately stab yourself with a needle and not bleed all over a snow-white fabric), but by the time the kids headed off with their dad tonight, the house was still a pigsty.
Being a get-down-to-it type, I immediately sat down and checked my email.
But after that, I did a quick survey of what needed to be done. Then I wept.
Then I set about the things that needed doing: Emptying the dishwasher, filling the dishwasher, cleaning the kitchen counters (and sink; damn you, Flylady!), taking out the recycling, emptying the trash, picking up various bits of child detritus, wiping down tables, cleaning bathrooms, vacuuming–
Vacuuming. Oh, the vacuuming. What I really wanted to do was test out my new! improved! Swiffer, but it was not meant to be, today. I needed to get out my thousand-pound Kirby to deal with all the dirt that the kids have tracked inside this winter. Either it hasn’t snowed, and their boots are clomping around in MUD, or it’s snowed, and every outside surface has been sanded for maximum traction and maternal nervous breakdowns. I SWEAR I vacuumed in the mudroom sometime recently. But the sand and dirt in there… well, if you brought in a palm tree it would’ve been a great setting for a luau.
So. I vacuumed. And then I considered getting out my trusty Hoover Floormate and really giving all the floors a good scrubbing, because they need it. I was about to do it, too, when I had a sudden moment of clarity. It went something like this: Why yes, we COULD get out the Floormate and do a good job on the floors, probably spending another hour to do so. Or we could recognize the fact that we’ve already been cleaning for quite a while, we are tired, we are having our boob sliced open in the morning, and–perhaps most disturbingly–we are referring to ourself in the royal plural. How about we just take an Ativan, get out the Swiffer Wet cloths and do a quick once-over, and call it a night?
Guess what I decided to do?
I put together my new! improved! Swiffer and noticed immediately that… it’s a different color than the old one. I immediately felt improved. Or, you know, green. It’s a lovely transluscent green, which is totally much more high-tech than the original, opaque green! Also the pole is a little bit thicker than the original and seems sturdier while it’s being shoved around the floor at breakneck speed, which is pretty much how I do all of my Swiffering. (Because, let’s face it, if I had lots of time, I’d be using the Floormate.)
Maybe I’m a domestic moron (yes), but the execution of the little scrubby strip along the edge is problematic. It’s a great idea, because lord knows you’re always swiffing away and come upon a blob of… something… that needs additional scrubbing. But in reality, part of what’s so neat about the Swiffer is that the head seems to swivel freely in just about every direction; this becomes a drawback when you’re trying to use the scrubby strip. Instead of delivering the concentrated abrasion for which its designed, I found the head hard to balance/aim on its edge, and more often than not succumbed to just bending over and holding the head in my hand to aim it at whatever I wanted to scrub.
Regardless, I was able to swiff (or–as I like to call it–psuedo-mop) several rooms in about fifteen minutes. Hurray! I can die on the table tomorrow, now!
Kidding. I can’t die. There might be a Swiffer product out there I haven’t tried yet. And I still have to pair socks and scrub my toilet.