I attempted to clean my house yesterday because it was Thursday, the special day, a day we don't have five conflicting practices, school functions and birthday parties. Before you can even start to vacuum, dust or really clean, you have to pick up the debris. My house always looks like a war zone.
Always begin in the kitchen - the heart of our home. Attack the worst part first. I got the dishes loaded and counter cleaned off. I stacked all that unwanted mail and questionable receipts in a pile in a corner on the counter to postpone again for the next week. Cycling bottles are stacked all over my dish rack drying so that they don't mold. My husband hates that. I went to the dining area and scooped up the helmet, bike shoes, bike chain off the kitchen table, threw away the greasy paper towels and grabbed the other bike tools and put them back in the garage. I thought about putting the monster bike rack away in the garage but decided it would be back up next to the kitchen table tomorrow, so just surrendered to let it stay. Next the family room. Not bad. Three and a half pair of shoes, a pair of my son's shorts, a sock, the ski bag partially open full of clothes and a Yoplait yogurt container that our dog drug out of the trash.
Headed to the laundry room to toss my find in the basket. My family has a code established about laundry priority. If the garment in question is placed on the washer, than it is a priority, meaning "Wash Now." This code was established because we have kids playing sports and needed uniforms clean and apparently the laundry maid was shirking her responsibilities. Maybe we should just call it the sweaty pile. The thing is, the laundry maid is noticing the priority pile is growing especially during this Winter and I swear my husband has favorites as far as cycling kits. I started the first of many, many wash loads from many priority sweaty piles.
I passed right by the shipping boxes stacked in the office because the office is not my pick-up territory. I had already checked the labels for chain love and had sent an accusatory text to my husband about ordering a trainer, but apparently the orders were work-related. Okay, I guess other professions need to be trained too. It read trainer on the labels and there were a lot of boxes! My bad.
Then headed for the bedrooms with hesitation. The only consolation with my bedroom is, that I know every morning I make the bed, despite the laundry on the floor or the dust on the dressers. The bed is like our life raft in the sinking ship of clutter around us. Okay back to our bedroom. Actually, it wasn't bad. I had recently dusted and my husband had organized his side a bit, so by most hoarding standards, it's probably a three. He had most of his bike bags zipped up along the wall and his reading material stacked.
Ladies, remember when you had babies and they came with diaper bags and all those accessories? This is what it is like being married to a cyclist. They come with bottles, gear, gadgets and bags full of clothing all over the house.
Everyone dreads cleaning bathrooms. I glanced at the counter top...
Polo Aftershave, Paul Mitchell Hair Gel, Hammer Balm Muscle Cream, DZnuts Chamois Cream, and I thought, "He should really put some of these in his diaper bag."