3 Steps to Good Housekeeping

This is the April edition of the print version of After the Bubbly, an award winning family humor column. If you’d like to see it in a local publication, let me know and I’ll do my best to get it there!

My name is Lela and I have a housekeeper. Don’t judge me. I’ve done enough of that myself. I’ve also tried to handle the housework myself—even enlisted the kids in a weekly ritual to rid our home of the odor of dog and used Kleenex. The routine consisted of making a list of chores, cranking up the Jonas Brothers, and setting a timer for an hour. It was ugly, but at the end the house was clean—not white glove clean, but good enough. I followed up throughout the week nagging the children to pick up their things until I ran out of saliva. This system worked for a while, but the kids complained and I got tired of yelling. We slacked off until I was once again afraid I’d pick up a Staph infection from my own bathroom. I knew I needed help.

Step 1: Admit that you are powerless over your poor housekeeping.

It’s like a disease, this inability to scrub grout and polish porcelain. So why do I feel so guilty about outsourcing? I’m only trying to set a good example. None of us is Superwoman. The grime coating my best wedding gift vase was so thick I’d forgotten its original color; dust bunnies had morphed into a pack of vicious jackrabbits under my sofas; and there were leftovers in the fridge from the Bush Administration. Clearly, I was not in control.

Step 2: Realize that the solution lies in a power greater than yourself (ie. a housekeeper).

I called the woman who used to clean our house back when I had one big paycheck instead of the handful of small ones I now receive. She was available. And she’s great—with baseboards, stainless, and my fingerprinty glass-topped desk. I justified the luxury by telling myself that now the kids and I will have time to work on the deep detail cleaning and organizing. We’ll thwart the landfill-o-crap that threatens to overtake their bedrooms. Mmm-hmmm. That’s exactly what we’ll do with the time. We won’t sit around eating Sour Patch Kids and Raisinettes and watching American Idol. No way.

Step 3: Commence with the cleaning.

Naturally, I had to clean up the house before the housekeeper’s first visit. I won’t be judged for hair-clogged drains and fuzzy ceiling fans. More important, I don’t want her thinking we’re trouble like those slobs across the street. I can’t afford a rate hike (or the stress of negotiations). Her first day back I held back a giggle as she worked and let out a hearty “YES” when I saw the tidy of rags next to the washer after she’d gone. I floated through the house on a lavender and Pledge scented cloud. Goodbye tiny hairs and pet dander. Hello shiny wood floor.

Judge me if you must, but not until you have walked a mile through the devastation that was my home before I got help—and the housekeeper.

Lela Davidson’s award winning essays appear in magazines throughout the country. She is the parenting columnist on HubPages.com and a regular contributor to ParentingSquad.com. As long as she gets paid to write, she’s keeping the housekeeper. Find out more on her wildly entertaining blog, www.afterthebubbly.com.

Confessions of a Dirty Housewife

A couple of years ago I started enlisting the kids in a weekly ritual I like to call The Hour in Which My House No Longer Smells Like Dog and Used Kleenex. I followed up throughout the week with nag-the-children-to-pick-up-their-things-until-mommy’s-saliva-dries-up. But somehow it’s not working. Somehow I am still slightly fearful that I’ll pick up a staff infection from my own bathroom.

I feel guilty. But not because my house is a hot mess. I feel guilty for feeling like I should be able to do it all and not getting help. Because really – when there’s a quarter inch coat of dust that actually changes the color of that lovely glass vase you got for your wedding – when the dust bunnies have turned into a pack of vicious jack rabbits – when there’s stuff in the fridge that you can’t identify – when it’s that bad – you need help.

So a couple of weeks ago I finally broke down and called the woman who used to clean our house. And wouldn’t you know that poor dear was out of work? Providing a regular gig was the least I could do. Besides, now the kids and I can work on the deep detail cleaning more often so as to thwart the landfill-o-crap that threatens to overtake their bedrooms.

As I waltzed through the house on a lavender and Pledge scented cloud of happiness, I felt better. Not just because all the tiny hairs had been whisked away, but because I had a hand in the financial recovery of our nation.

Stimulate the economy: hire a housekeeper.

Can’t enough of my wit? See these gems:

Treat Your Husband This Valentine’s Day: Morph Into a 1950s Housewife
Cleaning the Children’s Suite – It’s No Earth Day Up There

Should you desire to clean your own house, check out tips and tricks over on Parent Bloggers Network.