I opened the door on my kitchen cabinet the other day to get a coffee cup, and I immediately found myself beingbeaten about the face and head by falling dishes.
I ran from the kitchen dodging plates, cups, glasses and a few other things that I never knew belonged in a kitchen cabinet in the first place.
In all my years as a cabinet door opener, I have never seen so many dishes falling out at the same time.
Now I don't mean to complain.
I love it that Hubby is so wonderful and helps me with the housework.
I just wish someone could explain to him the rules of dish stacking.
Like how the plates do not belong on top of a stack of cereal bowls, and the glasses are not arranged in a pyramid.
And how the smaller pots go on top of the larger ones and not the other way around.
I don't dare say anything myself for fear of hurting his feelings and possibly losing his help around the house.
You see, I'm just not that big on housecleaning.
I used to be.
Back in my twenties and late thirties.
Then I got older and I'd like to think I got a little wiser.
I used to worry all the time if the house got dirty.
In dirty, I mean did I have dust bunnies underneath the refrigerator? Did the wall behind the couch need cleaning? Should the floors be cleaned more than twice a day.
Did I remember to mop the driveway and vacuum the lawn today?I was so naive back then.
I thought these things were important.
Then the grand kids came along and I realized that one does not die from grape jelly on the drapes, a glass of milk being spilled on the carpet, or from half eaten apples andcheese sandwiches hidden in the china cabinet.
Nor do crayon marks on the wall and little hand prints on the windows and mirrors constitute sending the children to a Juvenile Correctional Facility.
I learned that it's much more fun to play hide and seek with the them, than to follow along behind them with a dust mop, a sponge and a bottle of bleach.
I've even allowed the dust bunnies to grow large and fluffy underneath the refrigerator and I haven't seen the wall behind the couch in over a year.
I don't worry about the small things anymore.
So what, if the tables get a little dusty.
I don't scold the kids if they write their name in the dust.
(as long as they don't write the date.
) I'm very lucky though to have a hubby who enjoys helping out around the house.
Not all women have this.
I have heard their stories and I shudder to think of having to lift a man's foot up off the floor in order to vacuum under it (once or twice a month).
I have learned to tolerate clutter, to function in a house that doesn't resemble the operating room at our local hospital.
I still clean occasionally, as needed.
And yes, you can still eat off my floors.
Only now you don't need to drop you own food.
You could probably find enough cookie crumbs and chips already lying around down there to make a meal.
Not to mention dog biscuits and raw hide chew bones.
Actually, Hubby is a better housekeeper than I am.
And he's fast too.
The grand children can come for a visit and while I am still hugging them bye, Hubby has their toys all picked up, their dishes have been whisked to the kitchen and loaded into the dish washer, and not one garment remains from all of their clothes they had strewn across the house.
I don't know how he gets everything put away so quickly...
and I suppose I don't really want to know.
That's the reason I never openthe closet door in the guest bedroom.
I ran from the kitchen dodging plates, cups, glasses and a few other things that I never knew belonged in a kitchen cabinet in the first place.
In all my years as a cabinet door opener, I have never seen so many dishes falling out at the same time.
Now I don't mean to complain.
I love it that Hubby is so wonderful and helps me with the housework.
I just wish someone could explain to him the rules of dish stacking.
Like how the plates do not belong on top of a stack of cereal bowls, and the glasses are not arranged in a pyramid.
And how the smaller pots go on top of the larger ones and not the other way around.
I don't dare say anything myself for fear of hurting his feelings and possibly losing his help around the house.
You see, I'm just not that big on housecleaning.
I used to be.
Back in my twenties and late thirties.
Then I got older and I'd like to think I got a little wiser.
I used to worry all the time if the house got dirty.
In dirty, I mean did I have dust bunnies underneath the refrigerator? Did the wall behind the couch need cleaning? Should the floors be cleaned more than twice a day.
Did I remember to mop the driveway and vacuum the lawn today?I was so naive back then.
I thought these things were important.
Then the grand kids came along and I realized that one does not die from grape jelly on the drapes, a glass of milk being spilled on the carpet, or from half eaten apples andcheese sandwiches hidden in the china cabinet.
Nor do crayon marks on the wall and little hand prints on the windows and mirrors constitute sending the children to a Juvenile Correctional Facility.
I learned that it's much more fun to play hide and seek with the them, than to follow along behind them with a dust mop, a sponge and a bottle of bleach.
I've even allowed the dust bunnies to grow large and fluffy underneath the refrigerator and I haven't seen the wall behind the couch in over a year.
I don't worry about the small things anymore.
So what, if the tables get a little dusty.
I don't scold the kids if they write their name in the dust.
(as long as they don't write the date.
) I'm very lucky though to have a hubby who enjoys helping out around the house.
Not all women have this.
I have heard their stories and I shudder to think of having to lift a man's foot up off the floor in order to vacuum under it (once or twice a month).
I have learned to tolerate clutter, to function in a house that doesn't resemble the operating room at our local hospital.
I still clean occasionally, as needed.
And yes, you can still eat off my floors.
Only now you don't need to drop you own food.
You could probably find enough cookie crumbs and chips already lying around down there to make a meal.
Not to mention dog biscuits and raw hide chew bones.
Actually, Hubby is a better housekeeper than I am.
And he's fast too.
The grand children can come for a visit and while I am still hugging them bye, Hubby has their toys all picked up, their dishes have been whisked to the kitchen and loaded into the dish washer, and not one garment remains from all of their clothes they had strewn across the house.
I don't know how he gets everything put away so quickly...
and I suppose I don't really want to know.
That's the reason I never openthe closet door in the guest bedroom.