It doesn't help that my two daughters, well, what they say about the apple and distance from the tree. Mo is a prodigy of destruction and Em is a peer of the realm of packrats. Doesn't help that one of Em's pastimes is paper dolls. Not just the ones you cut out of paper doll books, those were just the appetizer for her. She carves up magazines, catalogs, newspapers, anything really, creating elaborate fantasy structures. And a lot of tiny scraps of paper. I remember one time, taking the shop vac to her bedroom, sucking up what was plainly garbage on the floor to have her shriek that I had just swallowed up a barber shop and a post office.
She worked on her room last weekend, filled a trash bag with detritus and filled the hallway with about ten loads of laundry (wonder why she can never find clothes to wear?), but I went in and filled a second bag in addition to discovering more laundry yet.
Some of this stuff I can understand: I have a way of making a mess and getting used to it instead of cleaning it up. Clutter just seems to spring organically from places I inhabit. I just need to set this down for a sec, I'll put that away later, I might need that.
But how a stick of Em's deodorant finds its way from the dresser top where it's supposed to be to the bottom corner of her closet under three layers of toys and clothes is the Lord's own private mystery.
Mom brought down her steam cleaner, something I've needed to do to my carpets for awhile, too. Did it Memorial Day and Labor Day in '06 but somehow just kept meaning to do it for all of '07. After a year and a half, well, it's like I have new carpet.
Of course, immediately after this shot was taken, Barley took up a spot right in the foreground and lay down. With his damned black hair. My advice: if you're going to own a damn dog, make sure your damn carpet is the same color as the dog. If you don't want black carpet (and even I am not that eccentric), get a dog that matches a carpet color you like or don't own a dog at all.
I realized that part of the reason is I haven't had a day where I didn't have the girls, or have to work, or have a batch of beer to brew, or a rocket to launch... In other words, my kids, my work, my hobbies, all of these things are, come right down to it, priorities over a clean house in my mind. I even feel guilty for not practicing the guitar or working on my fiction, but I never, ever feel guilty about not cleaning the house. I only get irritated that it gets dirty, seemingly all by itself.
I still need to finish up some in my bedroom and the bathrooms could do with more than the bare minimum effort for a change. And I still have a bit of laundry to finish.
It's just like with diet and exercise, a little effort every day and it's not a big deal. I understand this, I know it, really I do. But I have a horrible track record of making that translate into more than a sporadic series of days...
The whole joint still needs a new coat of paint, and for that matter, a kitchen remodel, two new baths, carpet/vinyl throughout, replacement windows, new siding, a new roof, a new deck, and the driveway to finally be fixed for real. Which is to say, it's still a distressed property but at least its a tidier distressed property.
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