Scrubbing Bubbles
Today I cleaned. It's Saturday, which means cleaning day. During the rest of the week our front room gets buried under books and magazines and papers and Wii motes and milk glasses and shoes. Jackets and sweatshirts hang off of every chair. I wash sinkloads of dishes, but I don't often get every last dish clean. Saturdays are different. Lysol, Palmolive, Comet, Windex--they all find their place in the limelight. They all come into the glory they were born for.
The most amazing miracle: cleaning out the fridge. Throwing things away, pulling out shelves and scrubbing away every gooey spot, every unidentifiable stain. Then I inventoried the fridge. Which means I wrote down every item on a piece of scratch paper and pinned it to the refrigerator door with a magnet.
Our bathroom smells fresh.
The kitchen floor isn't sticky.
The sink is Crest whitestrip-white.
I also opened most of the windows. It made our apartment pretty cold. Kegan watched the Blazer game wearing a sweatshirt and bundled in a quilt. But it was so worth it. Lately, every time I walk into our home it smells like stale, deep sleep and as though all of winter has been compressed into the apartment--and not the good side of winter like cinnamon and snow and hot chocolate, it's the bad side of winter like old coats and sweater sweat and dead leaves. But now, after several hours of letting the weird Utah spring breeze blow around, our apartment smells better. A lot better.
I might be writing this to impress you... nah. I think I'm just pleased to feel like I can LIVE in here again. If you need to use the bathroom or something, please stop by. It's very clean in there. Very soothing. You could bring some incense and do a little meditation. I wouldn't mind.
The most amazing miracle: cleaning out the fridge. Throwing things away, pulling out shelves and scrubbing away every gooey spot, every unidentifiable stain. Then I inventoried the fridge. Which means I wrote down every item on a piece of scratch paper and pinned it to the refrigerator door with a magnet.
Our bathroom smells fresh.
The kitchen floor isn't sticky.
The sink is Crest whitestrip-white.
I also opened most of the windows. It made our apartment pretty cold. Kegan watched the Blazer game wearing a sweatshirt and bundled in a quilt. But it was so worth it. Lately, every time I walk into our home it smells like stale, deep sleep and as though all of winter has been compressed into the apartment--and not the good side of winter like cinnamon and snow and hot chocolate, it's the bad side of winter like old coats and sweater sweat and dead leaves. But now, after several hours of letting the weird Utah spring breeze blow around, our apartment smells better. A lot better.
I might be writing this to impress you... nah. I think I'm just pleased to feel like I can LIVE in here again. If you need to use the bathroom or something, please stop by. It's very clean in there. Very soothing. You could bring some incense and do a little meditation. I wouldn't mind.
posted by Sylvia Louise at
8:08 PM
1 Comments:
I think this year has officially taken apart my Saturday cleaning schedule.
Something about cleaning all day Saturday and the house being dirty again by Sunday really dampens my spirits. So then I just do it in pieces all week, and it basically looks in about the same chaos all the time.
I hope my bro was helping you clean.
When I'm grown up I will have a dishwasher. His name will be Hank.
And a maid. Justin.
In honor of cleaning up Saturday, I bought an electric mop on-line. And that was the extent of my cleaning.
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