Domesticity isn't genetic.

Every time I speak to my mother on the phone I hang up feeling like I have to clean something. I think the verbal lashing I got as a child if my bedroom wasn’t cleaned or I left the kitchen a mess has implanted a trigger in my brain that says "Hear mom’s voice – MUST CLEAN." I’m not saying she’s Mommy Dearest, not in the least (“NO WIRE HANGERS!” was only heard once or twice in our household, promise.). In fairness to my mother, I really did leave things a huge mess more times than not and since she won the “Cleanest Working Wife with Control Issues Award” three times in row (and that’s a record), I completely understand and support her urge to yell or at least give a stern talking to. Mostly yell, though.

Last night was no exception as I got off the phone with her and immediately wanted to scrub our kitchen. My husband and I have a rather lax attitude towards cleaning. We are clean people as we now have our own home and since it’s our very own living space that we have to pay for with our very precious money, I like to respect it but sometimes we just can’t be bother to do it. So, we like things to be clean, but we want someone else to do it for us. For free. Every day. Mom?

When I hung up the phone I started formulating a plan in my head. First clean out sink, wipe down surfaces and then scrub stove top. Quick wash and then vacuum of the floor. Throw out old food from fridge and organize shelves. Disinfect counters.

By the time this was all thought through Entourage was coming on so instead I just sewed a button. TV wins.

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Liz in Dublin