So it's the first of March, and with it comes the hope of Spring. Surging within the veins of nearly every woman comes the nature-inspired energy to clean; clean; clean; spruce it up and clean! The early Jewish women often did this Spring cleaning as a ceremonial-type of washing out the old and bringing in the new year. (March/April mark the new year by God's calendar.)
So, not entirely alone in my attempts to make everything look better, smell better and get all involved to live better, I began my journey into The Cleaning Venture. The Cleaning Venture brought with it memories of The Great Clean, which I do not refer to often; especially on here. (Not because I am afraid to, but merely because it is such a long endeavor: all that typing. See what Facebook and short 450-word count stats have done to us?)
All The Little People appreciate these mothering attempts to make life swell. (Remember Leave It To Beaver?) By little, I mean the people you tend to think about last, but should think of first: your family; the ones who live there; dwell there; the ones who root you on. Anyhow, those are the people who are the most important when it comes to any kind of self-improvement, and they are also the most involved.
Yesterday, my husband and I worked on the garage. (Partially inspired by my little brother and his wife who gladly allowed us to load up their entire almost entire garage contents into the trailer and lend it to the city landfill: such freedom!) We threw things out and he swept because, well, it looked like some gross things were on the floor and let's just face it: I'm not as brave as I often think I am! Girly-girl One cleaned her room and packed away most of her knickknacks for storage. I washed my kitchen. (You may be wondering how someone can wash their kitchen. It's like this: you take a soapy sponge and-- literally--wash the mini blinds, the window sill, the counters, the sink, the dish drainer, etc. You get the idea.) We had such fun! Yes, we, the entire family. I'm speaking for everybody here. Even My Fourth Child became involved when she dared to walk accross the street and join Girly-girl One, General Two and Mr. Three in their attempts to appease the mother. Ah, life is good.
So this morning I awake to fond memories of falling to sleep with my kitchen sink all shiny and I'm thinking, "Like, everybody is going to be stoked to pick up where we left off." After a delish breakfast, I holler (that's what us hick-folk women do: holler.) for the broom. Girly-girl One brings it to me and I begin to point out the disaster of the once-civilized living room. I wanted the children to think about how embarrassing and rude it would be if someone were to come for a visit and would have to move toys and things off of the cushion before they could sit down. I attempted to entice the dear people to join me. It went something like this, "Fair children, let us now place our strung-about items back into our bedrooms. Just imagine and suppose that your dear aunt, Connie, were to come by for a visit." Where would she sit? My children are all standing around me thinking; thinking. At long last, my youngest, Mr. Three states: "I just don't see what's so scary about Aunt Connie coming over anyway." Thumping my hand against my forehead I make a mental note: Needing lessons on hospitality.
