It’s over between us. I know we’ll only be together for 3 more weeks, but seriously I can’t take it anymore. What was the kicker?
Saturday’s Surprise Visitor (looking around living room): So are you guys packing already?
Me: No, it just always looks like this.
Time to snap into Mom Cleaning Mode (MCM).
She’s bestowed on me many qualities worth bragging about. Among them, an appreciation for anything on sale, a keen sense for finding stray animals, a lifetime addiction to Oreos crushed in milk, and an unparalleled ability to tan.
One of my most valued genes from the maternal side is the MCM gene. It’s a mental and physical switch that is flipped when a house (or room or other small space) has reached is maximum filthiness. How does this so-called switch occur? It’s like the Loggerhead sea turtle who enters the water after being hatched and swims without stopping until it reaches the safety of the Sargasso Sea. There, the switch is flipped off and it grazes for years before starting its journey back to the same beach where it was born. It just knows. And you can’t argue with Mother Nature.
With the ferocity of the Loggerhead, Mom began her attacks according to her internal clock, which seemed persistently set for Saturday mornings. Ah, waking up to the sweet sound of her yelling over the vacuum cleaner at Dad. Nagging and vacuuming at the same time; indeed, multitasking is another inherited skill we share.
Genetic predispositions from my dad’s side are equally important when in MCM. Along with an intense love for all things college football, Cheez-its, and church, he gave me the gift of piling and spreadsheets. When in MCM, I am capable of quick and efficient organization due to years of making piles. And once those piles are made, my best friend Excel and I will have everything inventoried.
If you’re reading this, Dad, I hate to bring it up now, but it must be said. Your organizational skills (plus an article about a young Mariah Carey in InStyle magazine) are the reason I numbered all of my clothes and tracked them on a calendar. One year of my short life was consumed with neat little boxes that told the story of my wardrobe. Obsessive? Yes. Unnecessary? Yes. A disappointment to my parents? Absolutely not. While they could never count on my room being clean, they always knew that all books, clothes, and past homework assignments were categorized and properly documented. (But maybe a 60-day rule against repeating a shirt was too much?)
So, it’s over between us, messy house. You didn’t deserve an explanation, but there you have it. I’m destined to bring you to your doom. I hear you mocking me: “Go back to arranging your shirts by color and length of sleeve,” you say. You’d rather I clean out the refrigerator, huh? Oh no, that can wait. The hodgepodge of contagious clutter around this house will soon be eradicated. And I will sleep well.
Bring on the surprise visitors,
Amber
2 Comments
May 26, 2008 at 10:20 pm
and like the loggerhead, guess where I learned it? Yes, from my mother and so on and so on!! Wonder if you’ll do the same with your children’s clothing?
May 27, 2008 at 2:16 am
Qualities bestowed on me from the genes of roommate Amber: crushed oreos in milk, cheez-its, arranging a closet by sleeve length, and movie quoting.