honeybunch

Housekeeping ain't no joke, Louisa May Alcott wisely observed.

That annoying overwhelmed feeling of late is in part due to my house having reached the point where I simply cannot do another thing I need to do, deadlines be damned, until I've wrestled the hateful 50-foot snaking central vac hose out of its closet and sucked up everything in my path (and Steve wonders why there are so many missing socks. Ha.)

Remember that Flintstones episode where Wilma, determined to get a maid, smudges dark circles under her eyes and feigns exhaustion? It worked, Fred relented and, if I recall correctly, they got Gina Lollobrigida. A few weeks after Stella's birth I pulled a similar move, albeit more sympathetically: if I'm going to breastfeed this baby 18 times a day there is simply no time left to vacuum. And so we got Svetlana.

During our three-year relationship I learned something important about myself: I'm not a very effective boss. I don't like telling people what to do. Svetlana came, initially, with a translator. And things were good. She'd arrive, I'd make her tea then leave and return to a magically tidy and sparkling home that smelled like lemons and pine and a good deal more elbow grease than I've ever put in.

Alas, as happens in all close relationships, standards began to slip over the years. An errant dust bunny. A bit of crusty jam welded to the kitchen counter for 2 weeks. Suspicion that the tub had been Windexed but not actually cleaned. Long distance phone calls to Ukraine. But mostly I hated becoming one of those women who complains about their cleaning lady. So we parted ways, amicably, three months ago and I vowed to clean the house myself.

So today. House dirty. Need to vac. Conundrum: Henry is afraid of the vac. Can't do it while he's sleeping. Can't do it while he's awake. A snippet of my scintillating morning conversation with my husband:

Me: The house is pretty dirty, huh.
Him: Yeah. Pretty dirty.
Me: Henry's afraid of the vacuum.
Him: Probably because he doesn't hear it very often.
Me: (choking on coffee) What? What does that mean? Are you insane?
Him: (calmly) What? Svetlana's coming Monday. What's the big deal.
Me: Do you live here?

Sigh. What use is Calgon when the tub is dirty?