Mike, of course, does a rather large share of the cleaning at our house, but I’m doing my best to take on the greater share of it since I work fewer hours than he does and also I’m generally around a lot of the time when the mess is actually being created and could theoretically prevent that from happening.  I’m not likely to win any awards for my housekeeping any time soon, but over the past few years I have gotten way better at keeping our house in a state that wouldn’t cause a gaping black hole of shame to open up in the living room if we had unexpected guests show up at our door.  I’ve also gotten better at actually completing the tasks I start, like returning the vacuum cleaner from whence it came and actually moving the wet laundry from the washing machine into the dryer.  Sometimes I have to set a timer to remind myself, but it gets done.  I am feeling pretty good about my newfound ability to keep on top of things, because we have three pets who collectively eject enough hair from their bodies for us to fashion an entirely NEW pet about every three or four days, and I’m sure once we add kids into the mix it will be even worse, unless I can convince the dog that she really likes to eat floor Cheerios. 

My parents came to visit this weekend, which means that, like every child in the last thousand years who has had their mother come to visit, regardless of whether the aforementioned mother is the type to wander around the house and make comments about the piles of dog here and kitchen that still kind of smells like rice pudding (I should make it very clear that my mother is NOT, thankfully, one of THOSE types of mothers) I freaked out and tried to clean everything in the house.  But I couldn’t clean everything early in the week because it would just get dirty again (I’m not sure why this happens, but I’ve been led to believe it has something to do with the second law of thermodynamics) so I spent the first part of the week fretting a little bit, and the second part of the week sweeping the cobwebs off the front steps and asking Mike to change lightbulbs and standing at the sink with a soapy rag in my hands, realizing that in all of my almost 29 years, I have never even once thought to myself, “Wow, that is one DIRTY FAUCET!” unless I was standing in my own kitchen, at my own sink, right before my mother came to visit.