Saturday is a Special Day . . .

Finding out that hubby got to go to work today was a bit of a blow.

I had a significant 'honey do' list I was prepared to whip into action when I knew he had an off day to do all that highwire work that I shun when home alone because I am a total weenie when it comes to ladders.

I can go off the side of a cliff clinging to a small rope but I hate ladders. Go figure.

So, rather than cracking the whip today, I am going to Plan B.

Since my broom has gone AWOL, seriously, it is missing and I have the feeling it is taking an unscheduled ride in the back of hubby's pickup, I am left to improvise on floor maintenance. Did you know that the vaccuum isn't just for carpet. That little gem sucks up the pet hair and cobwebs and strange bits of clutter that gather in my house like this is some sort of primordial mating ground for messes.

Employing its noisy self to do what is generally a thankless task, I get the floors ready to mop.

Let's not kid ourselves here. Whomever thought about women and their special needs so much as to invent a mop that you can THROW AWAY when you are done with the floors should be canonized, knighted, given the Nobel Peace Prize and elected to some high office of Homeland Cleaning.

The very idea of putting a nasty string mop into a bucket to 'rinse' before trying it out again in a dubious 'cleaning' of the floor is just . . . well. . . NASTY. They always seem to smell faintly musty or have that soured smell that reminds me of an old ladies' house who has been on her own a week or two too long.

And the sponge mops on a tiled floor leave little wet giblets of themselves behind in a secret molting process that defies complete removal. I have found tiny blue sponge pieces stuffed into the uneven seams of the floor MONTHS later. Zero fun. Especially when this discovery occurs either when I am trying to have a nice dinner party or when my MIL is visiting and must honestly believe I never clean my home between their once a decade visits.

To be fair, I do like having a clean home. I am just not fanatical about it. My fantasy is to win free maid service forever. Hey! You have your dreams . . . I have mine!

I finished "Swiffering" my floors and they are lovely. For now.

Any woman who is so deluded as to believe that the work she does in her home will be a permanent change needs a vacation - and fast.

But the fact that I can do the wash and leave a row of crisply hot shirts for the next week of work for hubby, or that the dishes are done and acutally put away instead of resting calmly in the dish drainer for the next meal makes me feel like I have done something of value.

It actually doesn't really bother me that it will need doing all over again. It isn't a bad thing to be needed. There is something almost comforting in knowing that the socks and undies swirling in the hot dryer are for MY family and that they will be able to function because we have a reasonably clean and orderly home with clean clothes in the closets and drawers.

I must confess that there is still the secret wish that it would be done by fairy elves on the days I am booked from dawn to dusk with outside activities and appointments.

It reminds me of the story I heard of the woman who had come home from a full day and was seeing herself coming and going as she went through the house to clean it. Her husband, who sat reading the paper, remarked, "Why are you doing all of this stuff? Isn't tomorrow the day the maid comes?"

To which the woman replies "Yes! But I can't have her come here and see this mess!"


Well, the dryer called and needs attention on the clothes that I will have to iron if I don't get them out right now. And speed is of the essence. The shirt that isn't removed from the dryer and put on the hanger right this moment will otherwise require ironing . . .