1,000,001 thoughts while cleaning the house

Grating on my every nerve is the necessity of deep cleaning this house. Yeesh. It just doesn't seem to end. And my constant ongoing thought, albeit unreasonable, is when we clean our homes the dust shows even faster, thicker, and more obvious than before undergoing the chemical showdown. Obtaining a cleaning lady used to be a far away fantasy. Now it's within reach as Jon and I discussed this as an acceptable investment. But that very strong side of me rejects the idea because it's MY JOB to clean the house (see Stay at Home Manual, 5th edition, text revision for job description and pride spectrum). I suppose it can be equated to having a personal assistant at the office doing the dirty work you despise. But somehow it makes me feel I'm giving up or giving in. Plus then I'd have a witness to my laziness and constant tv watching.

Thought 1: Monica convinced me that she and Liz concluded vacuuming the hardwoods is the only way to go. I'm there. As usual, it has to be my idea before doing something. When I've been sweeping and Swiffing the floors I am the audience as the tiny particles of dust dance in the sunlight. Although I swept but a day ago, the layer of fallen dust to my floors is like a dagger to the head reminder that I need to sweep again. But no! I am now vacuuming just like Monica and Liz...and my SIL Steph whom I observed doing the very same routine, but with a very attractive, gloriously large, purple dust-eating machine.

Thought 2: After moving into this awesome home and getting our floors refinished, I vowed not to use the oily wood cleaners we are often misled into purchasing, as I was told it could harm the finish. However, ours is a bottle we got in a Christmas gift bucket of house cleaners many moons ago. Yet we hold onto it as if an heirloom bestowed upon us in the form of a plastic bottle filled with Murphy's Oil.

It was recommended to use nothing but vinegar and water. So this is my current solution.

Thought 3: For some reason I felt it necessary to vacuum Egan's room before putting him down for his nap--yet another rationale why there is absolutely no excuse for not cleaning my own house. I have a child who sleeps upwards of three hours. I placed Egan in his crib to play and just as I plugged in the Hoover, he began screaming and crying harder than I think I've ever heard him do so before. I continued, narrating my every move for him, animating my actions and facial expression to assure him how happy I was to be cleaning, so he could hopefully come at ease with the horrific action I was committing. Poor guy. Neither of the other two were at all scared of The Vacuum. That was my streaming thought as I tackled the dust bunnies under the dressers and behind the bookshelf, denying the fact that I have a kid whose terrified of The Vacuum. Those kids are to be mocked. When I'd glance up at him in his crib, until we met eyes, he sat contentlly sucking his thumb or playing with one of the many toys I surrounded him with. Then he'd remind me how truly frightened he was by squinching his puffy, tear filled eyes and forcing out a few more sobs. I caved, picked him up, and soothed him by cuddling and explaining the usefulness of a vacuum in our everyday lives, thanking the maker. Horace P. Vacuum?

Speaking of procrastination, I've burned 40 minutes working on this stream of consciousness. Time now to get to work while I still have time. That is, if the frightening roar of the devil I grip in my hand doesn't wake my sweet sleeping Egan.