The Strive to be Perfect

I want to be perfect, I want to have the never dirty yet always approachable house. I want to be the perfect mom, daughter, sister, wife, friend, neighbor, soccer mom, employee, etc…I almost wish I didn’t but I do. I want to be perfect.

Missy is on her way to my house right now and although she’s been here a dozen times before, knows I have kids, knows those kids were sick all last week, excuse, excuse, excuse. I am still running around like a mad woman, cleaning my house. (Is that dust on the fan blades? Crap! Grab the ladder! )

I know, I know, I know, she won’t care or probably not even notice, but what if she did? What if she didn’t want to come back because my house was dusty, the floors weren’t mopped, I didn’t run the clean cycle in the oven last night? I’m not just talking Missy, obviously, this is just the way my brain works, I think this about everyone, even my parents. Have I ever mentioned that I have OCD? As if you probably didn’t guess.

The thing is, I think everyone has a maid but me. Some how, everyone’s pictures of their house are perfect, no dust bunnies under the couch, no cheerios under the cushions and bathrooms that are always sparkly.

I remember my Aunt Kathy’s house growing up. She had 3 boys and both her and my Uncle Bill worked full time, yet her house was ALWAYS spotless. I spent many a nights over there hanging out with my cousins and I never remember seeing her clean, there was never an “off limits” room that you knew was crammed full of all the junk she couldn’t sort thru at the moment. It was a prestine house. How?

My Grandma Nina’s was the same way. I do remember seeing her with her cleaning bucket and gloves on Saturday mornings but that was it. Just a few hours every Saturday. Her house was always company ready, always clean. How do these people do it? What am I missing?

 I have my schedule, I feel like anyone random could walk in at any point and my house would look OK, but just OK. And, it comes at the price of me spending 4 hours or more every day cleaning plus busting my butt the moment before someone shows up just to make it look OK. What am I missing here folks? Anyone willing to share the big secret that I’m missing, or maybe share their maid and how they are affording it?

There are people in my life, loved ones, that, forgive me, I just can’t picture on their hands and knees scrub brush in hand, cleaning the toilets. Nope, sorry, the image just doesn’t work. So who does it? How is it always clean?

The messed up part is that logically I know there’s an answer out there and it’s probably a lot simpler than I’m making it. Heck, I never look at someone else’s toilet when I go to sit down, I just sit down. It’s only in retrospect, when comparing to mine, that I think about their house’s cleanliness and somehow most of them are always immaculate in my hindsight. Am I just falling victim to rose colored glasses? Grass is always greener on the other side and all those catch phrases that make us feel better about feeling bad? Is everyone else busting hump moments before I arrive to make sure their fridges are wiped down because god forbid I look at the shelf with the sticky unknown goo?

I really want the perfect 1950's house. I want my husband to come home everynight to a clean house, dinner on the table and a happy, non stressed out, not exausted wife. I just haven't figured out how yet. It's like a yard sale puzzle, one or two pieces are always missing and you don't find out till you've got the rest all put together. By then, its like what's the point? What's the point of rushing all day to get it all done, nice, ready only to be too exausted to hold a conversation with my husband?

Who has the energy for a sunset walk after dinner? I have dishes to do!