I like having things clean. I like tidy. But I am not one of those folks who lives to clean. I don’t get my joy and peace in my heart from the actual act of cleaning. I don’t necessarily mind it (sometimes), but I don’t have it as my go-to activity.
My mother and my youngest daughter, on the other hand, love to clean. I mean L-O-V-E to clean. Apparently it skipped right over me. My younger sister doesn’t necessarily live to clean, but she gets a kick out of it way more than me. And when she is stressed out, she cleans. Me? Not my stress relief. Or any other relief for that matter. I wish it had skipped my sister, too, because then I could say it just skipped my generation. But, no, it seems to have just skipped me.
I wonder which is my pantry cabinet and which is my mother’s??
Sometimes, at the end of a long day, I enjoy standing at the kitchen sink and washing a load of dishes. It seems therapeutic. And once in a while ironing will be therapeutic. So I guess I have a normal amount of cleaning-ability . . . But, I repeat because it needs to be repeated, it is NOT my go-to. Not like theirs, anyway.
I started thinking about the fact that the gulf between my drive to clean and my youngest daughter’s is quite cavernous.
What does that say about me?
I wonder … It can’t be good.
I don’t like dirt and I really don’t like clutter, but I don’t like things to feel unlived in or too sterile either. I love a sparkling clean window to view the world through and I love fresh clean sheets (especially if they get to dry on the clothes line). I love it when the dishes are all clean and put away and the counter tops are shiny. But I can’t seem to successfully find a place for everything that needs a place in my bedroom. My knitting supplies seem to spill over regardless of my efforts, my books and papers multiply when I’m not looking, and the jewelry, lotions, and whatnots on my dresser will not submit to anyone’s control.
My mother’s and my daughter’s dressers, however, are spic and span. Their crafting supplies are in order and completely find-able. It is not only accomplished by them, but they enjoy accomplishing it.
Perhaps it is a mental condition. Perhaps I have a wire or two that have a connectivity issue. Why, yes, I think that is it! It must be true because their mental conditions can actually think of solutions to all those things with ease and delight. I don’t think my mind functions in alphabetical or numerical order. It jumps from C to P to M to 4 to U to 7. And my dresser top proves my point.
That’s how it feels anyway.
I will continue to give it my best effort. I will keep on putting it on my goals’ list. And I will continue to fall short. Especially when compared to the women in my own family.
Oh well. I’m not them. But some days I kind wish I was a little more.
Not a clean-a-holic