Coming Clean About Cleaning

betsey: Jane, I know both you and I hosted guests this past weekend, although you went the full-dinner route and I opted for dessert-after-the-restaurant. However, Fritz and I both cleaned feverishly anyway. I think it’s a gift to your guests to welcome them to a glowing, well-ordered home. Certainly one can debate about cleaning upstairs when company comes (I say yes, because sooner or later you’ll have to do it anyway) or the right way to “speed clean” (shoving unsightly piles under beds). But I admit

I’m a little uncomfortable with the mantra: "People don’t care how your house looks, they just want to see you."

I mean, I do care how someone’s home looks – not that it has to be luxurious, but that the host has taken some time and care to clear clutter, put away kids’ shoes, empty the bathroom trash – that kind of thing. What do you think?

jane: After you mentioned emptying the bathroom trash basket, I had this sinking feeling I forgot to empty mine the last time you and Fritz came over for dinner. Oops! I'm really good about cleaning the “powder room,” as we call it, but I can't say I always remember to empty that trash basket, which is tucked inside the vanity cabinet (now you know where to look!).

Speaking of powder rooms, I need to vent. I've noticed a strange, unexplained pattern emerge in my marriage of almost 34 years:

Every time I clean the guest bathroom, He Who Shall Remain Nameless is drawn to its toilet like a moth to a very bright, sparkling flame.

This happened yet again last Friday, a few hours after I'd spent a fair amount of time Lysol-ing in there. Maybe I should save the bathroom cleaning until the very last moment. But then I'm afraid I'll have to do that “speed cleaning” thing, and that would really stress me out . . .

I suspect my beloved's simply obeying one of those mysterious, immutable laws of male behavior – like using the restroom to catch up on his reading. Anyway, the half-bath once again required a good once-over. All “evidences” of activity had to be, ahem, eliminated.

The truth is, cleaning a bathroom is NOT my favorite task. No, I'd rather go grocery shopping during peak hours any day of the week.

betsey: I freely admit that I like to clean. Fritz and I have cleaned house as our Saturday ritual for, well, just about all of our marriage. I find it meditative; I like the feeling of getting reacquainted with my house as I dust the colored glass on the windowsill or arrange apples in a nice bowl or sweep leaves off our front porch. (Really yucky stuff gets offloaded to my beloved.) I also like the tangible, physical quality of doing housework – maybe because I deal so much in words, abstractions, things floating around in electronic space. And he and I use the time to discuss and plan and catch up in a way that we can’t during the week. When do you clean? I’m always curious about people’s routines.

jane: Well, finally, here's something we differ on, Betsey! I DON'T find cleaning meditative – unless I'm dusting books or polishing a furniture piece my dad crafted for us. Basically, housework is exactly that: work. And its results are ephemeral. It's as though you live in Brigadoon or Camelot.

One moment you're happy-ever-aftering in the glow of your spotless house; the next, poof! That Shining Moment evaporates.

Don't get me wrong; I love my house clean. I love it decluttered. But I'm constantly battling the proliferation of dog fur and dirt. 

 

Here's another way we differ: Cleaning has never been a Saturday ritual in our marriage. Since I always worked part-time, I cleaned and grocery shopped during the week. I still do it that way so Rich and I are fairly errand-free on weekends. However, sometimes my motivation to clean wanes a bit . . . okay, a lot. I've been known to joke that we need to invite someone over so I'll feel pressured to clean. Either that, or put the house up for sale!

 

betsey: The worst, though, is when you think you’re clean and then go to someone else’s house that is so shiny-clean it almost hurts. You wonder if anyone even lives in the place. Then you come back home and go, Eewww.

 

jane: Or, then you have the shiny clean-house people over to yours, as we did last weekend. We entertained dear friends, the sweetest, most gracious folks ever. Whenever they invite us over, their lovely home is immaculate. So when it's our turn to host, I worry about mine lacking the same sparkle factor. 

I sweep and "Bona" our floors, yet ten minutes later the hardwood's sporting water spots and dog drool.

I vacuum dog fur only to discover even more fur has exercised squatters' rights and taken residence under our recliners and kitchen table. It's hopeless. Of course, as Rich reminds me, our friends don't own two huge, mess-producing beasts like we do.

 

betsey: “Sparkle factor” – that was the idea I was searching for. Our house doesn’t have that either and I’ve wondered about the secret of achieving it. For example, I realize with The Floor, there are little paw marks all over (particularly around the tables where we eat . . . ). It isn’t dirt per se; it’s just “dog traffic.” And I can’t tell Lucy to take off her shoes like I do Fritz. We Bona too but I’ve heard you’re not supposed to do that too often.

Years ago I had a hilarious conversation with a colleague about if we were "secretly dirty" in our housekeeping practices.

Of course, one’s mother or, more often, mother-in-law can make one feel that way. Once in our old house my MIL got down on her hands and knees and scrubbed the grille at the bottom of our fridge. 

jane: Oh, Betsey, if my MIL had ever done that, I would have been crushed by the implication behind that act! Not to mention really, really irked.

In my younger days I was intimidated by my MIL's housekeeping and cooking prowess. Of course I darn well made sure our living quarters were spit-clean before my in-laws landed on our doorstep. Except one time they surprised us by arriving a day early, and a HUGE, unmistakable patch of dog fur (which I planned to vacuum right before their arrival) blanketed our living-room carpet --  in plain view. Busted! 

 

My mother has always been a fastidious housekeeper. She still keeps to a rigid fall- and spring-cleaning regimen, with help from my dad: wiping down walls and baseboards, washing wallpaper, laundering and ironing all bedding and curtains twice a year. Do you and Fritz do this, Betsey? (Please tell me you don't!)

betsey: Not twice a year. I used to do spring cleaning more intentionally, taking books off the bookshelves and dusting them, airing bedding and pillows. I also used to wash walls but it would leave streaks so I decided to let the grime have its way. I’ll still do the “occasional” stuff, but now it’s more when I’m seized with a fit of the “shoulds.” I do not now, nor have I ever, ironed bedding!

But I do cherish that One Shining Moment, as you so aptly call it, when we can stand and bask in the perfection of our homes. Until the dogs and husbands come along, that is. Take cover!