It's My Mom's Fault

When I was a kid, before we could leave for a trip, my mom went on a cleaning frenzy. She would stay up all night, the night before we left, if she had to in order to ensure the house was spotless upon our return. Needless to say, it drove us all crazy. C.R.A.Z.Y. Crazy.

I remember many arguments about these cleaning sprees. We lived in a house Martha Stewart would envy anyway, so I never understood the need for this over-the-top cleaning.

My mom's reasoning was that if she had to come home to a messy house, it would distract from her vacation. But if she came home to a house that could pass a white glove test or where the toilets were so clean you could drink from them (we never did, but I did wash my hair in the toilet myself when I was about 2), then her vacation would be truly relaxing and it would be like she'd had maid service while she was gone.

Well, they say the apple doesn't fall far from the tree. Normally, no one would ever mistake me for my mom, in the housekeeping department. My philosophy is that if I can't see it without my glasses, it's not dirty. And those of you who know me, know I can't see my hand in front of my face without my glasses. But without fail, before I go anywhere, even just overnight, I feel the need to clean like a mad woman.

So last Saturday night, despite being overexhausted from a very busy week and a 6 hour drive very early Sunday morning to get to Watervale early in the day (since I was already a day late), I decided to clean house.

But when I get home tomorrow, I'll be ready to hit the ground running and get back to work and it will feel like I had maid service.

In all seriousness, thanks Mom.