Cleaning Day

Shortly after buying our home, Mike and I started our homesteading tasks.  We borrowed equipment from my parents and spent Saturday afternoons mowing our yard.  I even bought beer for the occasion so we could proudly stand amidst the freshly cut lawn, drink a cold one, and admire our handy work.  

On a trip to Borders, I had visited the home care section and purchased a (quite pricey) Martha Stewart book called the Homekeeping Handbook.  It was the pre-Pinterest resource, and I was thrilled to read it from cover to cover, learning how to make my own dish soap, plant and grow veggies, make a welcome basket for the guest room, and properly host a dinner party.  Those 752 pages were my ticket to becoming the best version of myself - a Bree Van de Kamp version of hospitality.  

Well, it got old.  It got old really quickly.  I found myself spending all of my precious weekend days trying to clean, run errands, prepare meals, help mow, grow an herb garden, and maintain the air of general Martha-ness.

Saturdays had become brutal.  We'd take turns mowing and weed-eating, but every few feet the line would snap and we'd have to reload the plastic twine on the weed-eater.  We could never get that little "bop this on the ground and the line will advance" part to work, so we'd constantly have to unwind and rewind the twine.  Every time the line would break, a string of curse words would come flying out of our mouths.  Then, the engine would sputter to a halt, so we'd spend another 10 minutes trying to get it back up and running.

At one point, coupled with other life drama like layoffs, the beginning stages of my illness, my father's illness, and "figuring out" married life, I landed on a couch in a counselor's office.  As I rattled off complaints of frustration, clearly overwhelmed and in tears from stress and anxiety, my therapist recommended something I had never considered.  Ever.  Her question was simple, but the answer wasn't.

She said, "Why don't you just hire people to do the cleaning and yard work?"
"Um, what?" I stared blankly at her.
"If it's causing so much stress and resentment in your marriage, why don't you just hire people to do those things?  Do you enjoy cleaning or yard work?  Does it relax you?"
"Um, no." Hadn't she been listening?  I thought silently.
"Ok, so I'm just wondering.  If you don't derive pleasure out of those activities, and they are causing pain for you, why don't you remove the source of the pain?"
Damn, she was good.
"Um, well..." I hesitated, thinking.  "No one in my family has ever hired out those services.  My parents had two kids, and they managed it all on their own the whole time we were growing up.  Won't that make me look weak?"
"Do you think that would make you weak?" 
Grrr... no free rides here.
"I guess not," I replied.  "My parents weren't sick when I was younger."
"Consider that.  Are you your parents?  Or are you you?"  Her questions continued, "Who would judge you?  Do you care if they judge you?  Why do you care if they judge you?  Can you afford to get help?  Can you afford not to get help?"

By the end of the session, I was ready to nervously tell Mike that I wanted to hire someone to cut the grass.  He readily agreed and seemed visibly relieved.  A few months later, I tested the waters again by proposing that we consider a cleaning service.  Again, he seemed excited.

Since then, there have been times - during hospitalizations and layoffs - that we've suspended our cleaning service and lawn care.  Once things stabilized, though, we quickly reinstated service.  Mike and I no longer bicker over stupid stuff like cleaning or taking out the trash.  

I had been raised in a house where the roles were clearly defined.  Mike and I don't have that, really.  The person who puts the last bit of trash in the bin and notices that it's full is the one who empties it.  Though, I must admit that I have - on numerous occasions - scattered my trash in various bins around the house so Mike would be the next person to notice the bins needed emptying.  The person who takes stuff out puts it away.  If something bugs me, like un-fluffed cushions on the couch, I fix it knowing that I'm just doing it for myself.   It works.  

Once I started at-home dialysis, we increased our house cleaning from once a month to twice a month.  Having to perform sterile procedures at home really means our house has to be clean.  And let's face it, no matter how carefully I clean, I can't possibly do in one-two days what those two women can do in 3 hours.  The lawn guys give us a perfectly groomed lawn in 15 minutes, rather than us toiling away in the 100+ degree weather for 4-5 hours.

At times, I feel like it's decadent to hire services like these, but then, when I'm resting or sleeping in on a Saturday morning, and I hear the sound of lawnmowers in our backyard, I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and relish my gratitude to be able to ask for and receive help.  And on days like today, when I've been working, tutoring, picking up prescriptions, and grocery shopping, I love that moment when I walk through the door and smell the scent of clean.  Fluffy cushions, freshly mopped floors, clean baseboards.  Later tonight, when I go to the bedroom to read, I know that I'll be relaxing in a freshly made bed.  And that's worth every penny.