It’s nice to know that others houses aren’t always perfect. Ann Voskamp wrote about it here, and it stirred something in me.
It used to be that I would panic when family would decide to stop by the house. All I could see were dirty dishes, the imperfections of my home and the animal hair sticking to our furniture, clinging to it for dear life. I would mourn a less-than-perfect house, the paint splotches from shaky hands, and was the bathroom clean enough to pass inspection?
My mother used to go into a much more severe panic. I hated it when company came over to her house. She would scream and yell. I vigorously scrubbed bathrooms and ran all over the house, and when there was nothing more to do I would stand in the kitchen, antsy, wondering if I should keep doing instead of retreating into my bedroom to a book. And I remember those moments now even as I scramble to make my home ready for company.
I watch my words and temperament. I remember and learn from the past. I don’t want that perfectionism in me. Tony once said, “We should hire a maid. We have jobs and busy lives and how do other people keep their homes clean?” Other people scramble, too, or they are stay-at-home moms who have developed a system. Instead, I clean the home without haste or anger, and to date our home with it’s pet hair clinging to the furniture and the dishes from yesterday is a home I love to return to each evening and welcome others in. It’s a home of love. My husband and I clean with humor in our voices and shrug our shoulders if our mess should get discovered.
What kind of house cleaner are you?