You know what is one of life’s great exercises in futility? Cleaning for a party. My son’s preschool class came over to my house last week for a potluck barbecue.
When the class rep had put out an email looking for someone with “a big backyard,” I knew that she was imagining the vast expanse of grass she’d seen her sons play on with my kids when they were at my place.
“At least it will give me an excuse to give my house a thorough cleaning,” I thought. Had I carried that idea to its logical conclusion, it would have gone more like this: “At least it will give me an excuse to give my house a thorough cleaning on Friday, and then again on Sunday.”
I swear, it is impossible to keep my house orderly. The forces of entropy are strong—and, I believe, centered in my basement.
I clean my house, my kids walk through, and BAM!, 24 Hi-Ho Cherry-Os are on the ground next to the one hundred Battleship pegs. I vacuum my carpets, my dog runs past, and BAM!, enough tufts of dog hair collect on the carpet to create a cat. I mop my kitchen floor, 40 people walk over it for three hours, and BAM!, there is thick layer of grime where before there was none.
In the end, I’m glad the party was at my place. It was all kinds of fun and because I was hosting, the class rep didn’t make me organize or cook anything. Plus, after the party, it was a short walk to the couch, where I was able to collapse in my own messy home.
I strongly believe that there will come a day when my house will be clean, my lawn will be mowed, and my “garden” won’t be an overgrown mess of weeds. Also during this mythological time, which I call “Fifteen Years in the Future,” I’ll cook dinners that don’t primarily consist of hot dogs and Pillsbury rolls.
But, until then, I have some cleaning to do. I’m hosting a birthday party for my son next week, and I have to have the house clean by then.
Original DC Metro Moms Blog post.
Jean blogs in her very organized online home, Stimeyland.